Descent
by T'Pring
Summary: Sheppard finds himself in the hands of terrorists who plague a new ally.  Alone, and certain that Atlantis has no idea where he is, John must find a way to escape before he loses all sense of what is real...and what is not.
1. Chapter 1

_Autho__r's note: Welcome to Decent. The story is now complete, so I invite you to play along. I apologize that the plot is not particularly new or unique, but I am trying out some techniques that will hopefully make the familiar aspects interesting and fresh enough for a few moments of enjoyment. At the very least, perhaps some of you can have some fun trying to figure out what the heck is going on! Comments are appreciated...  
_

* * *

The cold, hard floor rose up to meet him as the rough hands on his arms let go with a sudden shove. He barely had time to curl into a clumsy roll, and then he was scrambling to his feet again, lunging for the door that snapped quickly shut an instant before he slammed into its unyielding solidity. Frustrated, he took another run at the barrier, grunting when the impulsive outburst only bruised his already tender shoulder and sent him staggering back again. Panting and glaring at the door, he paced back and forth, a few angry steps in each direction, until the anger bled away and he calmed enough to begin to take in his immediate surroundings. His pace slowed, but he still moved in an agitated prowl, changing his pattern to circle the space and studying each wall in careful, professional scrutiny. 

His first impression was of overwhelmingly indifferent whiteness. The tired color was yellowed with age and repeated cleanings. Every surface in the small, bare, featureless cube of a cell was the same gratingly calming shade. Even the linens on the simple mattress that rested on the floor and the tiny towels folded on the matching porcelain sink blended in monochrome harmony with the walls and scrubbed floors.

He stopped to study the floor for a moment and nudged his foot against a scrupulously clean, but chipped, tile. He was surprised for just a moment by the sight of white socks sticking out of familiar gray pants. Then he grinned a bit maliciously. They'd taken his boots after he'd drawn the hidden knife. Sadly, the weapon had only gained him a couple of extra burly escorts and a thoroughly humiliating body search. But that one guy would definitely need a few stitches, he thought with some satisfaction.

Sighing deeply, he sank onto the mattress and scrubbed his eyes with the palms of his hands. He felt like hell, the lingering aches of capture and forced transportation exacerbated by anxiety and exhaustion. He'd been trailing the terrorists for 24 hours even before he'd hit the squad of soldiers at the Stargate on this planet. Just his bad luck that the terrorists had their enclave surrounding the 'gate itself. He'd stepped through straight into the hornet's nest.

Replaying his capture over in his mind again, he absently rubbed his hand over his bare wrist and mottled arm, bruised by the imprint of firm hands and fingers in patches of cherry red welts. They'd taken his watch too, and he suddenly wondered how long he'd been here. The initial interrogation had been brief and fairly polite. They hadn't had to make much of an impression as no fewer than 6 men had been holding him down at the time. Then, there had been the long walk through the enormous complex of both crumbling and modern buildings to his current location.

He rubbed his hands on his pants as he studied his cell again.

The place had an antiseptic, clinic-like quality that made his skin crawl. He would have preferred a slimy, spider-infested dungeon. At the least, that kind of a place would have indicated a comforting lack of interest in him and his trespasses. A clinic spoke to him of highly competent interrogation and carefully considered scrutiny. He shuddered, then leaped to his feet to pace the tiny space again.

How the hell had he let this happen? He knew the terrorists that had been plaguing Gellan and its sister colony Gemman were known for their ruthlessness and their highly efficient attacks. He was just so damn eager to track them to their source, he'd gotten sloppy. Well, he found their source, all right. He was sitting smack in the middle of their damn "source", and he shoved aside the images he'd seen in the Gellan newsletters of tortured and murdered hostages as he paced.

The burst of manic energy was short-lived and after several more senseless circuits, his shoulders began to sag and his socks scuffed against the smooth tiles, snagging on the occasional cracks and chips. At last, blinking with fatigue, he retreated again to the mattress and threw his arm over his eyes as he stretched out along its length.

He tried hard not to sleep. He intended only to rest his aching body and hopefully relax some of the tension that vibrated along his spine with every imagined scenario of what was to come. But he failed, and sleep found him despite his restless worries that melted into restless dreams of torture and shadowy terror. 


	2. Chapter 2

He awoke with a start, and sat up with unseeing eyes and pounding heart. It took a long moment for the room to come into focus, and for the memories to catch up with his surroundings. His heart pounded with the frantic beat of unknowing terror long after he'd realized his place. He waited out the autonomic response, then lurched to his feet, bracing himself against a wall as the motion set his head spinning. He felt hot and lightheaded. How long had it been since he'd had a drink? He couldn't remember, but he couldn't take the time to sip from the sink now.

The voices that must have woken him still drifted as unintelligible murmurs through the locked door, and he planted himself just in front of the mattress. He took a deep, calming breath, and waited.

The door opened.

Two of his "friends" from escort duty entered first, glaring at him and working restless hands over the smooth wooden clubs they each held in worryingly eager readiness. They were followed by two doctors or scientists. At least that was his guess – they both wore long, pale orange coats that clashed magnificently with the off-white walls, and the woman held a clipboard that she absently riffled through between nervous glances at the guards.

He watched her curiously, wondering with amused irritation when or if she'd bother to look at him directly. When she did, with a sudden stern snap, he was disturbed by the cold indifference on her face. A chill shivered down his spine and he clasped his hands behind his back to conceal his clenched fists. He returned her gaze with as much defiance as he could muster, and waited for her to speak first. He would not give them the satisfaction of begging for information.

"You are Lt Col John Sheppard?" She pronounced his rank "Elt Cole" and he snickered to cover his surprise. He hadn't told them anything. Not even his name.

"Not that you care, but it's _Lieutenant Colonel_ John Sheppard, and yes, that's me. How exactly do you know that?" He tried to sound conversational, but the question came out a bit forced.

She squinted her bright green eyes in response, dug in her pocket and held out a silver beaded chain with two silver tags. "These are yours, yes?" They were his dog tags.

John stiffened in rage as the chain swung carelessly from her fingers. You didn't take a soldier's dog tags. You just didn't! Not unless you were already dead. He choked back the morbid thought, angry with himself, too, that he hadn't even noticed the tags were missing until now.

His hand drifted to his empty chest as if of its own accord, and he took a single aggressive step towards the woman. A stick of wood attached to a burly arm halted a second, and John glared at the guard, stopping himself with difficulty. When he looked at the woman again, she still held out his chain, the question still fixed on her impassive face.

"They're mine," he rasped.

"Good!" She dropped them back into her pocket with a soft clink. "So we have something to call you. Why did you come through our Stargate, Lt. Colonel John Sheppard?" This time she pronounced every word with special care.

"Straight to the point. I like that." He stopped, raised an eyebrow.

"Why did you come here?" she repeated, more sharply.

"You can call me Colonel Sheppard, if you want. Or just Sheppard. Or just Colonel, actually. When we really get to know each other better, you can call me John…"

"Why were you following our traders?"

"Following?"

"You were seen on Gellan."

"Nice place, I hear."

The woman nodded, almost as if he was only confirming some unknown expectation, and she exchanged a solemn look with the male scientist who had until now remained silent, "Very well. Give us your home 'gate address…Colonel." The man's voice was deep and impatient.

"You'd like that, wouldn't you!"

"Yes."

The silence drew out and John chuckled. "I meant, _No_."

"We know you are not from Gellan, your clothing and weapons are not familiar to us. You have nothing to lose by cooperating, Colonel Sheppard. Give us your 'gate address." The man seemed even more annoyed, and John was certain that his eyes had lit up a bit at the mention of those interesting weapons he was so unfamiliar with.

"No."

"Why not?" The woman chimed in again, leaning towards him in an attempt to seem persuasively reasonable.

John just shrugged. "Nothing to lose. Nothing to gain."

"Come now! This is unnecessary. Give us your home address and we'll be able to contact your people." The man drew himself up haughtily only to be deflated somewhat by a restraining hand.

The woman glared at her colleague and added hastily, "Once we are in touch with your people, arrangements can be made for your return to them."

"My people won't trade for me. We don't bargain with terrorists."

The woman continued, oblivious to, or simply ignoring, John's hardened features and growing impatience with the verbal play, "Regardless of your cooperation, we will find your people. It would be better for you if we were to find them sooner rather than later."

John heard the threat in her stern statement loud and clear. He nodded calmly as if he were agreeing to a solemn contract. "I understand," he said.

The woman shook her head briefly in disgust, then turned her back on him, her colleague doing likewise after a long calculating stare that John returned with angry determination. They reached the door and the woman paused briefly, "Bring him to examination room 10." She nodded at one of the guards who nodded back. "He will require restraints," she added, then walked calmly through.

John backed against the wall, tramping on the low mattress as the two leering guards advanced on him, tapping their sticks against their palms.


	3. Chapter 3

_Transcript from the logs of Dr. Elizabeth Weir, July 7 _

_…To wrap up the science division notes, Dr. McKay informs me that the team working on researching the underwater power station mentioned in the Ancient database is about ready to launch a mission to locate it and hopefully bring it online. The extra power would be a welcome addition to our single remaining ZPM. I have scheduled a tentative mission date for 6 weeks from now, barring any other emergencies or projects that might come up. _

_In other very good news, Dr. Beckett reports from the infirmary that he has isolated the virus and developed a treatment for our men who have been suffering from the Pegasus Galaxy's bizarre version of malaria. The men will soon be able to return to duty, and all expedition members who have been to S1B-254 will be vaccinated. Since the disease is spread through the sting of an insect very similar to a mosquito, Beckett does not believe that anyone else will develop the symptoms through simple contact, but he is recommending the vaccinations anyway. Certainly, anyone returning to 254 will require the inoculation. _

_And lastly on a related note, Colonel Sheppard is still unaccounted for after more than 24 hours. As documented in yesterday's log, he has not been seen since he left the security training mission with the Gellans to pursue a group he believes to be from the terrorist organization that has been regularly attacking the Gellan and Gemman civilizations. 10 hours ago, we received a radio transmission from Sheppard through the Stargate, reporting that he was continuing to trail the terrorists and hoped to follow them to their base of operations. He left no 'gate address and no information for how to contact him. Considering his covert situation that is unsurprising, however frustrating. _

_McKay, Ronon and Teyla have been working with the Gellans to track Sheppard's path and Rodney believes he and the group he's trailing went to Gemman first, then to a small village both colonies often trade with. For some reason, the villagers are reluctant to speak with us and have avoided answering any of our questions so we are currently analyzing the last fifty 'gate addresses that were dialed from the village. We all know how slow that tends to go. Regardless, we will continue our efforts to find Colonel Sheppard and provide backup, should he indeed be tracking terrorists. _

_Elizabeth's Personal Log, July 7 _

_Damn John and his stubborn independence! I can have no formal complaint about his decision to pursue this military threat – however reckless, the decision is his alone. But the bottom line is we're all worried sick about him while he's off chasing rainbows and bad guys. So what else is new. When he gets back,, I really won't know whether to hug him or confine him to the infirmary for a week out of pure spite. _

_WHEN he gets back.. _

_Dammit, John. You'd better be OK…_

* * *

They reached the examination room bruised and bloodied, and in John's case, practically unconscious. The guard who held the club around his throat sniffled through a swelling, bloody nose and squeezed a bit tighter with each annoyed snort. John began to gasp and splutter, sagging limply into the guard's grip. He felt his legs lifted roughly onto a firm but not hard surface, and he coughed violently as the pressure against his windpipe was suddenly released and he was sprawled onto the examination table. 

Bright lights glared into his face, and he lay dazedly blinking as his arms were held and tight bands were wrapped around the wrists.

"You were not supposed to injure him!"

John recognized the stern, clipped voice of the woman doctor.

"Sorry ma'am, the bastard fights like a woodboar." The guard sniffed loudly again, and apparently earned some sympathy because the woman's next words were softer.

"We'll sedate him before moving him, next time," she sighed.

"Like hell you will…" John rasped. But the woman didn't bother to respond. Instead, she took his head between her hands, and turned his face to peer intently into his groggy eyes, then probed his bruised windpipe gently with her thumbs. He coughed and gagged at the touch and she tsk tsked at him.

"Serves you right," she muttered.

He coughed again and glared while she continued her exam, moving next to take his pulse, then his temperature and blood pressure. He followed her every move, studying her as he had his cell. She was slim, in a bony, underfed kind of way, and her narrow features were not at all enhanced by the severe bun her obviously long, straight black hair was pulled tightly into. In John's opinion, she looked like every "lady-scientist" stereotype he'd ever encountered, and felt a wicked kind of not-sympathy for her. "Serves you right," he muttered lowly to himself, earning him a stern, puzzled glance.

She moved around his table for a moment, and he heard drawers opening, and rustling. For a moment, he just closed his eyes, concentrating on recovering from his scuffle with the guards. Ironically, he felt anxiety closing in on him even faster as the lack of an obstacle, i.e. some satisfyingly stupid guards to fight, only heightened his sensation of helplessness. Strapped to a damn table he couldn't even pace to bleed off some of the extra tension that was beginning to vibrate again through his body.

Growing agitated, he raised his head to move his face out of the glare of the lights above him and tried to look around the room. He caught a glimpse of more white walls, lots of cabinets and equipment, and one of his burly friends at the single door out of the room. There were no windows, no other exits.

His head was pressed down by a firm hand on his forehead, and the woman was back, dragging a clattering tray with her to push next to his table.

The sound of unseen objects bouncing against the metal tray suddenly brought to mind absurd images of mad scientist horror movies he'd watched as a kid and the anxiety shot into pure panic. He gasped, and felt his heart racing with uncontrollable terror. His arms and legs were tightly bound to the table, but he reared up on his elbows, twisting at the cuffs on his wrists with painful jerks, and leaning away from the startled doctor.

"What…what are you doing," he growled, then twisted his arms again in fury at his inability to get himself under control. He was losing it. He hated being confined, he hated not knowing what was going to happen. His heart pounded in his ears. He was breathing heavily as he writhed and twisted, trying to pull away from and learn more about what the doctor was doing at the same time.

John caught a glimpse of the tray and the image was no less frightening than that of his fear-charged imagination. Needles and vials of god knew what kind of drugs lay spread across its gleaming surface. "What are you going to do," he yelled again, bucking his knees and jerking his ankles too.

Suddenly, the guard was leaning against his chest and the woman was shouting clipped orders to hold John down. Growling in anger, he fought against the enormous guard's downward pressure until the physics of the situation won out and he was forced against the table again. He held his elbow tightly against his side and barked a harsh laugh as he heard the woman curse in frustration as she tried to turn his arm.

The guard made a quick jump and bounced against John's torso, knocking the wind out of him in a great _whuf_ of surprise and a sharp crack of pain. The distraction was long enough for the doctor to twist his arm and jab a needle into the crook of his elbow. She was good, too, thought John as he almost immediately felt the effects of the sedative dulling his senses and relaxing taut muscles -- She'd hit the vein on the first try.

The guard remained pressing him down for a few moments longer, then slowly backed off as John melted, still panting, into the table. He twisted feebly at the restraints on his wrists, and tried to curl into the ache that still lingered in his side. The woman held his head again to peer into his unfocused eyes, and he realized she was also checking his pulse. Nice of her to be so concerned, he thought with a dull, sarcastic snicker.

"There now," she spoke at last. "Do you feel better now, Colonel?"

"Aside from the broken ribs, you mean?" John huffed in reply, shifting again against the ache.

The woman frowned severely, then, seeming to decide that he wasn't kidding, she crisply jerked up his shirt and palpitated the tender side. When she reached the aching spot, John yelped and lurched, despite the sedatives. The woman sighed a deep, exasperated sigh. "You are a singularly frustrating man, Lieutenant Colonel John Sheppard."

"I…haven't….worked up to….frustrating…yet," John gasped as she continued to probe the sore area.

She chose not to respond, tugged his shirt back into place, and simply went back to her tray. "I don't think any ribs are broken. One may be cracked," she said at last. John felt an IV port slide into his arm, and heard the zip of medical tape being pulled and torn. But John was, for the moment, past thinking or caring. He drifted in semi-consciousness as the sedative pulled him further into its drowsy warmth, turning the anxiety into aching exhaustion. He was so tired, he could sleep for a week. And his throat and his side hurt.

In the end, he must have slept some, because the next time he opened bleary eyes, the woman was gone and he was alone except for his rib-cracking friend at the door, and at least a couple bags of IVs snaking into his arm. The drowsy thickness of a sedative still hung heavy over his mind, and he was drifting away again when a quiet conversation from the direction of the door held him for a moment longer.

"All quiet, Julan?" It was the woman's voice.

"Yes, ma'am. The woodboar's been out since you left. Sleepin' like a baby."

"Good, carry on then. I'll be back when it's time for his next injection. The sedatives should keep him cooperative until then."

"Yes, ma'am…and ma'am? I'm sorry I got too rough on the stranger. He just kind of got under my skin you know?"

"He's a feisty one, all right."

"Yeah, but I know how touchy your job can be, finding the right drugs and all, and Director Niklas said he's no good to us crazy _or _dead."

There was a slight pause, then, "He's of some use to us alive?" The surprised amusement in the woman's voice twisted John's guts into a knot of fear. He was disposable, nothing more than entertainment, or an experiment perhaps. He was suddenly grateful that Julan the rib-cracker had mentioned he was "useful" to someone at least.

John squeezed his eyes shut and breathed deeply for several long minutes, fighting down another panic attack with sheer willpower. Feeling the sedative in his system gently tugging on his consciousness, he at last drifted away again, wondering what was in those bags and how useful he actually needed to be for them to keep him alive.


	4. Chapter 4

"Colonel Sheppard?"

John became slowly aware of the voice calling his name even before he felt the sharp sting of someone slapping his cheek.

"Colonel Sheppard, it's time to answer some questions now. Wake up."

"No…comment," John slurred, still woozy from sleep and the drugs he could feel muddling his brain and slowing his responses. He didn't want to answer any questions. No, he _couldn't_ answer any questions, not if he wanted to stay useful. His mind wandered for a moment, wondering why being useful was actually important. Then he jerked with the jolt of memory. They wanted the address for Atlantis. They wanted to ransom him for weapons. He couldn't answer their questions. But he was so groggy, and his head felt so thick.

"Colonel Sheppard, I need to know the name of your homeworld. What is the 'gate address of your planet?"

"No comment." John felt he should come up with a wittier response, but he was thinking too slowly. If he could just stick with _no comment,_ he'd be OK, he decided, finally. He was less likely to slip up and reveal something that way. He cracked open his eyes, then squinted against the bright glare that still bore down on him above the table he was still strapped to.

"Why were you following those men through our Stargate?"

"No comment."

John finally identified the voice of the man questioning him as the same man who had been with the woman earlier. He looked around blearily. There was no sign of the woman and…yes, the same man as before stood leaning over him, an eager, greedy expression on his face.

"What kind of weapons were you carrying?"

John paused at that question. Yes, the man had mentioned weapons before. "The deadly kind," he answered at last.

"Where did you get them? Do your people make them?"

"No comment."

"How long had you been following the traders?" "Why were you on Gellan?"

And so it went. The man with the deep voice asked his questions over and over, and John replied in a dull monotone until he thought he might scream from the sheer boredom of it. His stubbornness was not without consequence, though. The man grew clearly more and more frustrated until at last he grabbed a fistful of hair and yanked, leaning close to John's ear. "You _will_ tell me what I wish to know," the man snarled as John gasped at the pain.

"What are you doing, Niklas?"

The man glared into John's equally determined eyes for a moment longer, then turned to smoothly answer his colleague, "I was questioning him again, trying to find out his homeworld. He tried to head-butt me!" John snorted at the lie and rolled his eyes.

"I would expect no less of him," the woman replied, sounding amused.

"What are you doing next, Mahala?" The man, Niklas, was all calm control again.

"He's due for the last injection. After that, he'll be ready for your department. You can question him all you want, for all the good it will do you…"

"You don't think he'll talk to us, even after all you've done?"

John just caught the woman's shrug out the corner of his eye, "I think this man has been trained to resist interrogation. If he feels threatened, he could probably stonewall you all day. But, yes, maybe after the next injection begins to take effect, he'll see things differently."

"How long before we know if you've gotten the right dosages and he no longer feels threatened?"

"We'll have no real way to tell for several hours. When he starts to talk and stops taking a swing at everyone he sees, we'll know."

"What if he doesn't?"

Mahala sighed, an irritating, false affectation she seemed to use frequently. "Then we try the next series of drugs. I hope it doesn't come to that. They are still in development, and the side-effects are quite uncomfortable."

Niklas just barely grinned and met John's wary eyes with cold sarcasm, "Yes, let's hope it doesn't come to that."

"It doesn't have to come to anything if you just let me go." John finally joined the conversation, irritated that they were talking about him as if he were in another room.

"I'm afraid that's impossible in your condition," the man's deep voice was sickeningly sweet. He turned away and strode purposefully out of the room. John instead looked at the woman who was busying her self around the metal tray again.

"You could – this is just a thought here – you know, _stop doing what you're doing_ and improve my "condition" a great deal."

Mahala smiled, tapped a syringe with a wickedly large needle, then, setting the needle down, began to fiddle with his buckle and the button on his pants. Surprised and embarrassed, John squirmed furiously, but the doctor only leaned an elbow against his side and smirked as he froze when she tweaked the tender spot.

"Not to hurt your feelings or anything," growled John between gasping breaths as she tackled the zipper next, "but we should really get to know each other first…"

The woman just tugged on the pants top, pulling one side down far enough to expose his hip. John cursed like a sailor when the large needle sank deep into muscle, then lay groaning as the spot continued to sting and throb. Mahala neatly tugged his pants back up and refastened his belt.

"There now. All done," she said happily. Hopefully in a little while, you'll feel much more like telling me all about yourself, Colonel. We can do that "getting acquainted" part, then."

Her casual cheerfulness as she blithely reminded him of the interrogation to come was more terrifying than any threat of violence John could imagine. "In that case," he managed to force out, his voice shaking only a tiny bit, "I guess you'll have to start calling me John."

She was smiling as she lifted another needle towards the injection port on his IV bag hanging just above his head.

"Good night, John," she said, and released the liquid into his arm.

John felt the slight temperature change as the cooler medicine flowed into his arm, then the room faded away, and John along with it.

* * *

_Transcript from the logs of Dr. Elizabeth Weir, July 8 _

_…As if we don't have enough to worry about, there has been a serious terrorist attack on Gellan and the security minister who we have been working with for the last month was taken prisoner – or hostage possibly – by the group Colonel Sheppard was supposedly trailing. I hesitate to speculate on the meaning of the attack, and refuse to accept any explanation but coincidence that this has occurred while Sheppard is still missing. _

_ If there is a small ray of sunshine in the whole mess, it is that the Gellan security forces who have been working with Colonel Sheppard performed extremely well during the attack. Because of their new skills and procedures, the attack, while devastating, could easily have been much worse. Three terrorists were intercepted and stopped before they completed planting explosives that would have caused massive civilian casualties. We are lending assistance where we can, Dr. Beckett has joined the Gellan doctors in treating the casualties they did suffer, and I managed to convince Ronon to return and continue the security training on Sheppard's behalf. _

_It has now been 20 hours since our last contact with Sheppard. McKay has had some luck with the 'gate addresses gathered at the trading village – apparently only three were unique with the other 47 going back to either Gellan or Gemman. Major Lorne is arranging teams to search two of the three unique addresses, the third belongs to a reclusive colony that we've been advised to approach cautiously. As such, we will send a MALP through to request friendly dialog with their government in 6 hours at their planet's dawn. _

_Hopefully some sign of John will turn up. If he's in trouble, perhaps someone will have seen him, or be able to point us in the right direction. _

_I can't imagine that he's not in trouble though. We would have heard something from him even if he were still working covertly. Therefore, as of this moment, I am classifying all efforts to find him as search and rescue. _


	5. Chapter 5

John woke slowly, plagued by nausea and a killer headache. When lying still and trying to go back to sleep ceased to hold the discomfort at bay, he rolled onto his back, then pushed himself up to rest his head on his hands, his elbows on his crossed knees. It took several minutes of groggy sitting for him to realize that he actually_ was_ sitting up -- his wrists and ankles were no longer bound -- and he finally, cautiously, opened his eyes to look around.

He was back in his off-white cell, or one just like it, and had apparently been lying on the mattress for some time. The rumpled sheets and deep creases in his T-shirt were evidence of several hours' sleep. Groaning and closing his eyes again, he stood up and shuffled to the wash basin by feel alone, sighing with pleasure as he splashed cool water on his face and sipped several handfuls to soothe a parched and sore throat.

At last, he was able to straighten and look around without the room spinning out from under him. The cell hadn't changed any since his last occupation, so he flopped back down on the mattress and propped himself up against the wall. His side protested the scrunched position and he quickly shifted to accommodate the cracked rib, pressing his hand against the sore place. He felt something firm under his shirt, so he yanked it up quickly to see neat strips of tape plastered over the tender spot, and a band of tight gauze wrapped around his slim torso.

He let the shirt drop back with a sigh and, because he had nothing better to do, he ran a mental inventory of his current physical condition. It was more than just an excuse to grouse, he told himself. He needed to know how his body would respond when he asked it to. Sore ribs meant no close-fighting, he needed to keep enemies at a distance, away from the tender spot that could immobilize him quickly should a blow get through.

His hip still throbbed, and the muscle itself was sore. Probably not too much of a problem unless he needed to run for a long distance. Might hamper his speed at a short sprint too. Idly, he rubbed his right arm, noticing the bruises and pin holes where the IV had been, the red-sore ring around his wrist where he'd twisted against the restraints. There were more welts on his arms, too, and he just shook his head at the thought of how many hands had held, grabbed, or otherwise pawed on him in the last…how many hours had he been here?

And when was the last time he'd eaten anything? As if his stomach were listening in on his thoughts, it growled plaintively. John rubbed his eyes in frustration at the lingering nausea that competed with rediscovered hunger. Painkillers and sedatives always made him feel like crap. Not that he would turn down a nice handful of Tylenol though!

For a long time he just sat there, shifting restlessly with his shifting thoughts, trying to shake off the lingering effects of the sedatives and figure out what the hell was going on.

Aside from the brief session with Niklas, the deep-voiced man, he hadn't truly been interrogated yet, John realized. With a shiver of unease, he remembered that both Niklas and the woman doctor seemed pretty confident that he'd be willing to talk once the drugs they were pumping into him began to take effect. He rubbed his hip absently.

So, what _was_ he supposed to feel like? He rather assumed that interrogation drugs would make you feel woozy, or sleepy, to dull your resistance. Instead, he realized, he was slowly beginning to feel almost excited -- too keyed up, really. He found himself tapping his foot against the tile floor, then he was bouncing his whole leg in fretful agitation. Was he just nervous, reasonably worried about what was to come? Or was he beginning to react to the drugs? Were they starting to mess with him?

What if the drugs induced anxiety on purpose to attempt to scare him more than one normally could. He rubbed his palms on his pants, then ran a hand through his hair. No, no. That made no sense. They'd expected him to be cooperative, calmer. Or had they? He suddenly felt angry as he began to second-guess his perceptions and his memory of the overheard conversations. He jumped to his feet to circle the room, testing the walls, rattling the door.

A sudden frightening thought threw him further into a panic. What if he wasn't in the room at all? What if he was hallucinating! Would General O'Neill walk through the door and ask him questions that he would of course answer, because he'd been ordered to? Would Elizabeth show up and ask him to cooperate, to give them the 'gate GDO codes?

How did he know what was real?

John paced the cell like a caged tiger. The longer he paced the darker his thoughts grew, and the more his heart hammered. He began to clench his fists, and grit his teeth against an anxiety that was so intense it was nearly painful. When he suddenly felt a sticky slipperiness on one of his palms, he stopped to stare at his hand in surprise. He'd dug his fingernails into the fragile skin, creating a set of semi-circular scratches that were oozing tiny drops of blood. He wiped the blood away, watched more tiny drops squeeze to the surface.

Beckett would have something for that, he found himself musing. The innocent thought slammed into him with nearly physical force, and he sagged against the nearest wall, covering his face with his hands.

Beckett wasn't here, and he wasn't coming. His team wasn't coming. No one knew where he was. Hell, HE didn't even know where he was.

He couldn't trust anyone, because no one was real. He wasn't really here, he was still strapped to a table with drugs sliding into his arm. Drugs that made him wild with anxiety, drugs that would make him talk, give up Atlantis's secrets. He couldn't let that happen. He wouldn't let that happen. He'd jump into the Stargate's deadly initializing wave before he'd let that happen.

He stood braced against the wall when a murmur of voices reached him, filtering from the hallway just outside the door. He froze for a moment, then suddenly under fierce control, he moved to stand solidly in the center of the room again. He didn't exactly know what he was going to do. He just knew he'd be ready to do it.

The door opened to expel two guards. This time he didn't recognize them, and John felt a moment of disappointment. He'd been looking forward to annoying Julan again. The two pressed themselves into the space, creating a wall of sorts between John and the door, behind which a squirrelly young man carrying a tray scuttled in. The boy set the tray just off to the side, then scurried out. Without a single word, the guards backed out themselves, and the door snicked shut.

John shook his head with a sigh, then actually chuckled. Those two guards had outweighed and outmassed him three times over, yet they acted as if he were a serial killer with an axe in each hand. Finally glancing at the tray, his stomach growled again at the sight of a plateful of food. Eagerly picking it up to inspect, he grabbed a roll of bread and shoved it into his mouth while poking at the other items, and carrying everything over to the mattress.

The plate contained several slices of cold, deli-style meats, several chunks of hard cheeses, and another roll. Not fancy, but good. Then again, as hungry as John was, a couple of chunks off of one of his jumpers might have tasted pretty good! He devoured the food with wolfish enthusiasm, then washed it down with another handful of water from the sink. Not entirely sure why he was doing it, he then placed the plate and tray neatly beside the door. He stood staring at it for a moment.

So, they knew he was awake. They'd fed him. They were sure to return for the rest of it soon. The manic restlessness returned in a rush again, and he resumed an angry pace, back and forth in front of the door. Maybe the drugs had worked, maybe they hadn't. He certainly felt odd, euphoric and strangely terrified all at the same time, but he didn't feel like talking. He wouldn't compromise Atlantis. He wouldn't be traded like a rug in the marketplace. He decided that, even if this was a hallucination, he had to play it like it was real. And being real, he had to escape.

He spun again, wondering how he might manage to break away when they were so obviously wary of him. As he twisted, his sore hip muscle cramped and he stumbled a step, cursing the woman doctor and her damned needles. He even blushed a bit in furious embarrassment as he remembered her tugging on his belt as he lay ridiculously tied down.

He stopped suddenly, thinking hard.

Could they really have been that careless?

His hand drifted to his buckle. As he caressed its cold smoothness, a sly, malicious grin spread across his face.


	6. Chapter 6

_Transcript from the logs of Dr. Elizabeth Weir, July 8, addendum _

_Finally! Some good news! The MALP made contact with the planet called Lygell an hour ago. The Lygellan Stargate is well guarded by their government's military, but they are essentially a peaceful people. We were wise to approach them cautiously and politely and as such, they were willing to tell us that a single man came through their 'gate around 18 hours ago, following one of their trading parties. The Portal Guard, as they call themselves, detained the man, who fits Colonel Sheppard's description, and turned him over to their local civilian authorities. They are checking now to see where he is being held, and we have been invited to come through in another hour to meet with their minister of security. _

_The guard we spoke with was pleasant enough, but he mentioned that Colonel Sheppard, if indeed it was him, had injured two of the guards in the process of being detained, and I fear there may be some diplomatic delicacy needed in arranging for his release. As such, I am joining Major Lorne, Teyla, and Dr. McKay on the away team. With any luck we will be able to negotiate for the Colonel's release and be home by supper. _

_That, of course, seems too good to be likely._

* * *

Another hour, perhaps, passed and John paced with almost frantic intensity. Sweat dripped in his eyes, and he kept rubbing his palms on his pants, scratching at the tender scrapes on the palms, then rubbing them down his thigh again. 

He was dead. He was alone. They'd taken his dog tags because he was already dead. No one from Atlantis was coming. No one knew where he was. The desperately abandoned voice repeated itself over and over in John's head, and he fought the paranoia with one thought alone: he could get out. He knew how to do it. He just needed the chance.

His fingers rubbed against his belt buckle, then he ran one hand through his sweat-soaked hair. Deciding that surely they would be coming for him any moment, he unfastened the buckle and tugged the canvas belt out of its loops. He eagerly pulled the pin away from the metallic U and thumbed the pointed end, testing for sharpness. It was a sturdy, standard issue belt. The pin was satisfyingly solid, and while not razor sharp, the thin point could be usefully threatening, if used properly. And John knew how to use weapons properly.

As if he had foreseen it, there was a sudden gathering of voices and shuffling feet just outside his cell door, and John hurriedly twisted the length of the belt around his wrist and forearm, looping his middle fingers through the U, and positioning the pin in his palm. He then retreated to his usual spot in the center of the room, took a shuddering deep breath, and clasped his hands behind his back to hide his preparations.

The voices muttered on, and John twitched, blinking the fog out of his eyes – or was it sweat – and shifting from foot to foot. Some part of him realized that he was too nervous, too edgy, and he rolled his head in frustration at his lack of control over himself. He blinked again. The door rattled, then swung open.

_Keep it together, John._

To his surprise, the woman doctor entered first, followed by the usual pair of grunts (still no friend Julan). She looked rather tired, but remarkably pleased. John returned her reserved smile cautiously. He was going for calm and cooperative, after all, and it wasn't hard to fake an exhausted, glazed look.

"Colonel," the woman began, almost cheerfully. "Are you feeling better, now?"

"Um, yeah. Sure." John fidgeted a bit, then stopped himself. He wasn't sure how zombie-like they were expecting him to be, so he just took a stab at it, went on with little expression at all, "Thanks for the food and stuff." _Real witty conversation there, John,_ he thought, but the woman didn't seem to mind or care.

"Of course, of course. We have some good news for you, Colonel. We have made contact with your people. They will be arriving on the planet soon. If you are able, we will escort you to the ministry of security, then you can be released into their care." She stood beaming and watching him closely for his response.

But John frowned, his mind racing. What kind of game was this? Was it some ploy to get his hopes up? A ruse to get him to give up his address, hoping he was pliable enough from the drugs to fall for it? Or worse…was some part of the message true, and Atlantis was indeed in contact with these people. If that were the case, then this meeting with the security guys was sure to be a hostage negotiation, and he was needed to make an appearance as appropriate bait.

The woman was still watching him expectantly so he choked out a hasty and hopefully acceptable answer, "That's great. Really great. I'm ready to go home."

"I'll bet you are. If you're ready, we can go now."

"Of course we can."

The woman cocked her head just slightly, then still cheerful, she held out her arm in a gesture to beckon him through the door.

John moved slowly towards her, expecting the other shoe to drop any second, but the guards moved aside, one behind and one ahead a step into the hallway. In a moment, he was next to the woman and he paused, fighting the urge to glance down the hallway or simply bolt like a scared rabbit. Instead, he paused at the door's threshold, forced a cocky smile and gallantly gestured with his own arm.

"Ladies first," he said.

* * *

Elizabeth stepped out of the Stargate and quickly looked around for whoever had been sent to meet them. The 'gate sat in a rather large stone courtyard, surrounded by an enormous complex of buildings on all sides and occupied by at least a dozen armed soldiers in crisp black and tan uniforms – The Portal Guard. Teyla, McKay and Lorne quickly joined her, and the guards nearest them approached with casual confidence. Elizabeth was so puzzled by the lack of any delegates stepping forward that she continued to scan the enclosure, a frown creeping across her face. 

"Welcome to Lygell, ma'am," a guard finally spoke to her with great politeness. "Security Minister Torvik is expecting you. A page is waiting outside the courtyard to escort you to his offices once you have relinquished your weapons." The guard's eyes slid to Elizabeth's companions who were shifting uneasily at the courteous command. All except McKay, that is, who shrugged and immediately began to tug off his holster. Teyla stopped him with a warning nudge.

"Will Colonel Sheppard be with Minister Torvik?" Elizabeth wasn't going to let these people dictate all the terms without gathering some assurances in return.

The guard just shrugged. "I just relay the messages, ma'am. I don't really have any idea what's going on."

Elizabeth frowned again, and watched the man's face for a long moment. All the guards around them were serious, bordering on severe. But they didn't seem to be hiding anything that she could tell. Nodding unconsciously with her decision she said, "Very well. I can assure you that we have no agenda other than retrieving the Colonel. Please show us to your escort." She nodded at Teyla who slowly began to unholster her own weapons, McKay doing likewise as soon as he'd confirmed with a glance that it was OK for him to do so too.

Major Lorne stood smiling for a moment longer, then crossed his arms over his chest, resting one hand lightly on the butt of the P-90 he carried clipped to his vest. "If it's OK with you, ma'am. I'd rather hang onto mine. Would you mind if I stayed here instead? I'm not good at the whole diplomatic thing anyways. I fidget."

Elizabeth raised an eyebrow, then smiled at Lorne for finding a polite way to regain some control over the situation. "It's fine with me, Major. As long as these gentlemen agree?" She turned her smile on the guard who seemed surprised for a beat, then nodded slightly in grudging respect.

"I wouldn't mind the company, ma'am. I think the Major probably has a lot in common with the rest of us." Lorne beamed at Elizabeth who couldn't help but chuckle. There was more going on that met the eye, but she trusted Lorne to keep his head and play the diplomat, whatever he said about not being good at it. Maybe he would even get some information out of these men who were peers that she could use later.

"Good. Then that's settled. Please lead the way." Elizabeth more than trusted Teyla's ability to defend them within the complex itself so she nodded again at Rodney and Teyla who handed their – obvious -- weapons over to Lorne, to the further amusement of the guards. They both then joined Elizabeth in following another soldier across the smooth stone towards an arched entrance in one of the enclosing buildings.

Elizabeth drew back from their escort a few paces and quietly leaned her head towards McKay who was fiddling with his palm scanner. "Do you see him, Rodney?"

Rodney replied, his voice equally low and quiet. "Yes, his subdermal transponder is still transmitting. Sheppard is definitely here, about 3 Kilometers to the southwest of us. He's just sitting there at the moment, so they must have him confined."

"Thank God we've got the right place at least," Elizabeth murmured, then quickened her pace at the curious look from their guide. The soldier led them through the entrance, then waved them towards a crisp and proper young man who eagerly beckoned them further into the cool stone building.

At the first intersection of wide and gleaming hallways, they took a sharp turn towards the East and Elizabeth sighed. They weren't being taken directly to John after all. Steeling herself for the negotiations to come, she was rapidly beginning to think she would forgo the hug once she had him back and would skip straight to solitary confinement.


	7. Chapter 7

John stood in the doorway, inches from freedom, willing the woman doctor to take the final step he needed for her to be in the position he wanted. But she just stood, staring at his extended arm as if she'd never seen such a courtesy. Confused by her sudden fascination, he glanced involuntarily at his arm too. There were nothing but bruises and welts that he could see.

Snapping his gaze back to her face, he saw comprehension and a kind of stern fear flash across the narrow features. "Colonel Sheppard. You're playing us, aren't you?!"

To hell with good position.

With a sudden shove, he knocked the woman out of the door and into the hallway, sending her stumbling to the floor. Still using his forward momentum, he swung his belted fist at the cheekbone of the first guard, connecting with a solid punch and using the U of the buckle across his fingers like a brass knuckles. The man fell with a satisfying thud, instantly unconscious, and John was turning towards the second guard who had finally reacted and was rushing up to the doorframe from inside the cell.

Quickly thumbing the pin forward, John slammed his palm into the guard's shoulder, pushing him back into the cell and driving the point deep into the bulky, over-pumped muscles. The guard howled, and spun away from the prick. John snatched for the cell door and slammed it closed, locking the guard inside.

Panting heavily, John whirled one last time to see the woman just scrambling to her feet and trying to scuttle down the miraculously clear hallway. With a quick yank, John caught her up, spun her back into his chest and pressed the belt's pin into the side of her neck. She froze with tense terror, tugging futilely at his wrist that stayed firmly against her throat.

Snarling with his success, he breathed against her ear, "So, Mahala, what happened to 'John'?"

The woman didn't miss a beat, even as he began to hustle her down the hall, "John. You're sick. We've told you this before. Let me go, let me take you to your people. There's apparently nothing more I can do for you. Maybe your people have better treatments…"

John just snorted, "I'm not the one who's sick. You people and your ideologue terrorism are the ones who're sick. You can call me names all day long. I'm getting the hell out of here." John was hissing the words into her ear as he half pushed, half carried the doctor down the hallway towards a dimly lit stairwell at the hall's end. He blinked as he quickly assessed his immediate surroundings and peered quickly into each empty room and cell as he passed by.

Apparently this wing was otherwise empty. A large set of double doors blocked the hall from the rest of the building in the opposite direction John had taken. The bright light and murmurs of many voices coming from behind those doors moved John on further from them, lest some curious guard or doctor came through, wondering why he hadn't been brought out yet. The hall grew steadily darker as they got closer to the stairs, and he noticed the switches on the tired white walls flipped to "off". Perhaps they'd been holding him in secret? Hiding him from even the other terrorists? No matter. It didn't impact him now. His side started to ache again from the twisting and extending he'd had to do to take out the guards, and from the exertion of holding the woman as he walked.

He reached the end of the hall and paused at the threshold of the also darkened stairwell, thinking hard for a moment before deciding his next step. If he was going to make it to the 'gate, he needed to rely on speed and stealth. They were sure to start looking for him soon. Given enough of a lead, he could be well on his way and beyond the radius of any efficient search.

So that meant ditching the doctor. She was of no use to him particularly, and -- such was his boiling anger at her – he felt she might not be particularly safe with him. His hands against her throat trembled with an eagerness for revenge that he forced down with difficulty. Instead, he turned into the last room on the hall, dragging her through roughly and spitefully enjoying the sound of her fearful, rapid breathing. She wasn't so quite so smug now that the tables were turned!

Perhaps he could find a nice table of his own to tie her onto. Give her a little taste of what it feels like to be helplessly terrified. The uncharacteristically venomous thought surprised and disturbed him to such a degree that he shoved the doctor free to stumble further into the room and flipped the lights on, then stood in the doorway fiddling with the lock to regain his composure. He'd been within inches, already, of hurting her just for the pleasure of it. Was it the drugs? Some unintended side effect that was making him feel like he was hanging by his last thread of control, even sanity? Serves these bastards right, he allowed himself to think. If they've created a monster then now they'll have to deal with it.

The woman turned to watch him warily, standing with her arms crossed in defiant vulnerability. When he finished studying the mechanism, he looked around the room and began to untwist the belt from his wrist. This room was a small examination room with a table like the one John had been strapped to, minus the restraints, and a single small wall of cabinets and supplies. When the belt was free, John began to loop it back through his pants and fixed his gaze on the woman.

"How do I get to the Stargate?" he said without preamble.

"The Stargate is heavily guarded. You'll never even make it to the dialing device…"

"I didn't ask you tell me how to get through, I asked you to tell me where it is," John snarled, moving towards her and snatching at a chair along the way. He twitched when he passed the table.

The woman caught her breath, then answered bravely, "It's in the ministry courtyard, in the heart of the government sector. You have to go through the East wing of the hospital, then turn north down Ministry Corridor."

"Which building?"

"The only access to the Stargate courtyard is through the Security building, but…"

"Yeah, I know. It's heavily guarded." John pressed the woman down into the chair then began to ransack the cabinets and drawers. It took him only moments to find a long ball of gauze and a sharp pair of small scissors. Unwinding a long length, he pulled the woman's wrists together behind the chair and tied her hands securely. He then added a few loops of the gauze around her waist and through the chair's back for good measure.

Taking the gauze one last time, he cut off one more length of the stuff and doubled it over a couple of times to make a thick rope. He walked around to face the woman, tugging the gauze between his hands as he met her stern gaze. She had courage, he had to give her that.

"Colonel…John. Don't run. Don't hurt anyone else, please." The clipped, stern tone of her voice contrasted oddly with her pleading words.

"I should just turn myself in like a good little prisoner?"

"You're not a prisoner, you're a patient."

"Sure. Whatever."

"You're ill and confused…"

"Never felt better."

"And you'll only bring harm to yourself and others if you don't let someone help you."

John laughed, the manic harshness of it sounding edgy even to himself. "No thanks. You've done quite enough already. I don't plan to sit around waiting for your colleague Niklas to sell me to the highest weapons bidder, or use me against the Gellans in some freak hostage negotiation."

"We're not terrorists," Mahala's voice was soft with weary defeat, but John grew suddenly angry and shoved the guaze rope into her mouth, tying the ends tightly behind her head.

He stood back panting, and paced a few steps back and forth. "I know what I saw," he seethed at last between gritted teeth. "I saw your 'traders' casing the Gellan government's security setup. I saw them hand over the information to an agent on Gemman. I saw them pick up a delivery of weapons at the little village. Niklas was at the 'gate waiting for them when I made the mistake of coming through to this damnable planet."

Mahala's eyes grew wide at the tirade, then narrowed in steely disbelief.

John just chuffed with frustration and turned his back on her. She was in on it, so what was he wasting his time trying to convince her for? She was delaying him, trying to stall him. He cursed himself for letting her distract him and focused with difficulty on what he had to do next, pushing the woman out of his mind completely. It was safer for her that way.

John stalked to the door, flicked off the lights and paused in the doorway, listening. His heart suddenly hammered in fearful alertness as he realized he'd shut off the light not a moment too soon.

The doors at the far end of the hallway slammed open and a voice drifted down its length to John who stood frozen in the shadows of the examination room.

"Mahala?" The voice called towards his old cell. John recognized the deep timbre and stiffened with recognition. "Mahala? What's taking so long to move the offworlder?" Niklas called again.

John heard him suddenly gasp and take a few quick steps. John peeked around the edge to see the man kneeling by the unconscious guard, then ducked back quickly again as Niklas took a long look both ways down the hall.

The next sounds were of the double doors being slammed open again, this time from the inside, and Niklas bellowing for security. The hall was flooded for a moment with light from the bright rooms beyond, then darkened again as the doors swung shut. Niklas would be back, though. The hunt was on.

John quietly slipped out of the doorway and into the dim stairwell, tapping lightly down the steps towards the floors below…a shadow among the shadows.


	8. Chapter 8

It took only about 10 minutes for Elizabeth to realize that she was being stalled.

They had been greeted warmly by the Minister of Security, Torvik, and briefly introduced to a man named Niklas who left before they'd even been offered a seat.

Torvik droned on in endless litany of useless trivia about his planet and its history, their relationship with Gellan and Gemman as independent offspring of the two larger colonies, of their trouble with the terrorists that were plaguing their parent civilizations…

"Yada, yada, yada…" groaned Rodney softly at her right shoulder, tapping his foot with impatience and twiddling with the scanner that he was still studying surreptitiously under the polished conference table they were seated at.

Elizabeth shared the sentiment. But Torvik kept on.

"…As you are certain to have noticed, this uncertainty has forced us to take strong measures at the Stargate and increase the military itself. We have also had to restrict travel through the 'gate which is a hardship for our citizens. Many have family and friends on Gellan and Gemman. But we can allow only sanctioned trading parties and authorized travelers through."

"Do you not find it tiresome to put so much effort into defending yourself from your own people, these terrorists who are, by your own admission members of your own ancestry? Are the Wraith not threat enough?" Teyla alone seemed interested in the Minister's history lesson, and sat leaning forward, fully engaged in the conversation.

"We do indeed find our situation…frustrating. I meet regularly with the security ministers on Gellan and Gemman. We are, however, at a loss to find a solution. The terrorists seek demands that we cannot answer, and seem to enjoy violence for its own sake." The white-haired and very dignified minister shook his head with solemn sadness. "The loss of Minister Lucus was a great blow to all the colonies."

"We regret that loss as deeply as you do, Minister," Elizabeth interjected quickly, finally seeing an opening to get things moving in the right direction. "Minister Lucus was instrumental in forming the agreement between my people and the Gellans which has led to such great improvement in the security on that world. _Colonel Sheppard_ was instrumental in developing and executing the training program that was so effective in the attack on Minister Lucus, despite his loss. So you can see why we are very eager to see Sheppard and return him to his duties."

"Of course you are eager to recover the Colonel." Torvik nodded in understanding, his expression neutrally sympathetic and Elizabeth was beginning to realize just how skilled the minister was at diplomacy and negotiation. "We have only a few more items of business to discuss, and then he will be released into your custody.

"I hope you understand that, despite our respect for the Colonel's work on Gellan -- a respect we have only just come to understand you realize -- the Colonel did trespass upon our sovereign territory. When he arrived, he was merely an unwelcome intruder who refused to cooperate in any way with our security procedures, or even to reveal his name for some time. In fact, two of the Portal Guards were injured when they detained him at the 'gate, and another civilian guard was badly cut with a knife while escorting the Colonel to confinement."

Torvik paused, and Elizabeth understood the meaning. The ball was back in her court. She took a deep breath and molded her voice to sound as conciliatory as she could without relinquishing any authority. "We regret the injuries to your people. Clearly Colonel Sheppard's actions were an extreme response to the situation, and for that, on his behalf, I do apologize.

"The Colonel, however mistaken in this case, is still a skilled and accomplished soldier. In our last communications with Sheppard, he indicated he was, in fact, trailing some of these terrorists that you are so concerned about. I can only assure you that there is sure to be some reasonable explanation for his reaction, and that his intentions in coming here were honorable."

Torvik frowned and studied Elizabeth as if looking for some deceit in her face for some time. "Are…you not aware that Colonel Sheppard is suffering from the Madman Malaria?"

"Excuse me?" Elizabeth exchanged a hasty confused look with Teyla and Rodney.

"Our doctors have confirmed it. When Colonel Sheppard stepped on our world, he was already displaying symptoms of extreme paranoia and fantasy. One of the Portal Guard recognized the skin rash that accompanies the virus's attack on one's sanity. There are occasional outbreaks within our colonies, most often on Gemman which is native home to the insect which passes the disease from person to person…" Torvik trailed off as Elizabeth hung her head in weary understanding. "You did not know!"

"No," she sighed. "We have only just become acquainted with this virus at all. A few of our people contracted this – Madman Malaria you called it? – on a recent mission to Gemman. Colonel Sheppard was with the group that went, but not everyone in the group became ill so we had no reason to suspect. We believed Sheppard was operating under covert surveillance when he left Gellan."

Torvik nodded with sympathy, "I would not be surprised if the Colonel was experiencing the effects of the paranoia long before he reached Lygell."

"He believed that he was following a group of terrorists to their base of operations. When he failed to make regular contact, we traced him to Lygell assuming he'd encountered some danger." Elizabeth realized she was basically repeating herself, but the confusion, bordering on embarrassment, of the situation was nearly overwhelming.

"It has been our sad experience that when suffering from Madman Malaria, those, especially, who are trained to recognize and respond to danger often find it in every circumstance. The Colonel undoubtedly came across our trading party by accident and, prompted by the virus, assumed the worst."

"You have my apologies again, Minister."

"For that, there is no need. I indeed would have been…_disappointed_…if you had not expressed your regret for the injuries your man has inflicted, but he cannot be held responsible for his actions while under the influence of the Virus. I myself contracted the disease several years ago. It was a very unpleasant experience."

Elizabeth nodded, then grew suddenly stern, "Then you must understand our eagerness to collect the Colonel and return him to our home. We did not yet understand how dangerous the symptoms of anxiety and paranoia we observed could become when left untreated. If he is indeed suffering from the same disease contracted by the others in our expedition, then our Doctor has developed a vaccination that will destroy the virus."

Torvik's enthusiasm at her innocent statement was obvious, "Your people have a vaccination for the Madman Malaria? Our own medical experts would be greatly interested in speaking with your Doctors about this! Perhaps we could negotiate a trade agreement, knowledge for knowledge…"

Frowning, Elizabeth interrupted mildly, "Perhaps, Minister. But on this occasion we have only one agenda. Would you please take us, now, to Colonel Sheppard?" That feeling of being stalled was returning with more force, and she suddenly decided that enough pleasantries had been endured. She pushed her chair back and stood up as if the minister had already agreed. Rodney and Teyla followed suit, having watched the conversation intently even while remaining quiet.

Torvik remained seated, frowning himself. "I'm afraid that, unfortunately, now is not a good time. Our doctors who have been treating the Colonel to the best of our abilities tell me that he is resting soundly. Because of his agitated state, they were forced to sedate him to keep him calm enough for care. He is still unconscious."

"That can't be!" Rodney suddenly piped up. "He's been on the move for the last 10 minutes."

Elizabeth shot a look at McKay then squared herself before Torvik. Under her steely gaze, the man fidgeted in the first signs of discomposure she'd yet seen. "And how do you make this assertion?" he finally asked, coldly turning his eyes on McKay.

"Tracking device," Rodney answered, waving the palm scanner in the air. "The Colonel is outfitted with a subdermal transponder that allows us to pinpoint his location. Comes in handy at times. The man is remarkably adept at getting lost."

"I see." Torvik paused, as if he needed to gather his thoughts. "Then it is perhaps necessary that you learn the truth."

"The truth sounds like a good idea," Elizabeth agreed. Torvik took a deep breath.

"The Colonel's condition is severe. When he was apprehended, he was immediately taken to our hospital facilities for treatment. To our shame, instead of relieving the symptoms, it appears he has suffered an intense rebound-relapse instead. It is rare, but happens sometimes when the virus is treated late in the course of its progression. Our doctors have not yet discovered this vaccine you are lucky to have developed." The Minister suddenly sighed and met Elizabeth's eyes with almost amused annoyance. "You said Colonel Sheppard was a skilled soldier. This I truly believe." Torvik stopped again, and seemed quite reluctant to continue.

Elizabeth placed her hands on the smooth, cool table and leaned close to the minister. "Minister Torvik. Where is Colonel Sheppard?"

Torvik chuckled humorlessly. "We have no idea. He assaulted his escort, tied his doctor to a chair in the isolation wing and disappeared just about the time you arrived. We had hoped to recover him before finding the need to mention this embarrassment at all. Your tracking device, however, would be exceedingly…useful."

Elizabeth closed her eyes. She was going to skip solitary confinement, and maroon John on the mainland for a month, she decided. Once they got him back. The fact that he was quite sick, however, softened her irritation and she suddenly felt a stab of worry. How terrifying must it be to be in a strange place, with strange people all around, and believe them all to be hostile?

With a decisive jerk, she stood straight again and addressed Torvik with calm determination. "Minister, thank you for your honesty. We are going now to find Colonel Sheppard, and when we do, we will be leaving Lygell immediately. Do you have any objections?" Her manner was clear that none would be accepted.

"Of course not," the minister said, sagging into his chair. "I will assign a military escort to help you find your way through our city and lend assistance if needed."

"Thank you, Minister. The help will be appreciated. But I must insist upon full command of the search, plus an additional request or two that I will describe underway." Elizabeth's tone was steel sugar. She was in her element and had the diplomatic advantage. Torvik just sighed again.

"Of course," he said.


	9. Chapter 9

John descended the darkened stairwell, feeling his heart lighten and his adrenaline surge with pleasure. He was free. There was no way in hell they were going to get him back. With dark determination, he suddenly realized that he'd rather take a bullet than face the needles and restraints again.

As the floors fell away above him, the halls that opened out from the turns at each floor glowed brightly into the otherwise dim stairs. Apparently the stairs weren't regularly used, but the halls buzzed with the sound of people going about their business and murmuring in mundane conversation. John skulked quietly past each landing, taking the turns sharply and staying out of the line of sight altogether. As he slipped past yet another glowing door, he wondered idly what was going on in each hallway. Bunkers of soldiers cleaning and repairing weapons flicked through his imagination…as did torture chambers and more "examination" rooms. He quickly decided he should stop wondering about what was "going on" down those halls…

When he finally reached the floor that he assumed was ground level, he paused again. The woman had said to go through the East wing, then turn north. He thought back to his journey to the clinic and his cell that first time, and realized that he'd been indoors the entire trip. Perhaps all the buildings in this part of the city were connected? That could really make things harder – it was a lot easier to travel unnoticed outdoors.

John pressed himself beside the door and took a swift look into the ground floor hall. The gleaming marble-like floors and high painted ceilings seemed a stark contrast to the utilitarian concrete block and tile hallways above. There were wide doors that lead off the main hall, and men and women in both casual dress and the familiar long-orange coats moved between them. They seemed unalarmed, but there were two security-thug-types standing alertly further down at the junction of more corridors.

John pulled his head back in and pressed his back into the wall, wondering where to go next. From this angle, his eyes fell on a small square plaque just beside the stairs. He looked around, then stepped closer. It was clearly a fire escape map, and John almost chuckled at the ubiquitous nature of bureaucracy everywhere. The map was quite enlightening and he studied it carefully for some time. Despite its few details, it helpfully indicated orientation and the basic footprint of the building he was currently in. _Hospital, my ass_, he thought sulkily.

Checking quietly again that the hall was undisturbed, John turned downwards again and skipped down the steps to the basement levels.

Two floors later, he was satisfied with the dank empty nature of the hallway beyond the stairwell door and he turned into its comforting gloominess. The dull orange lights above his head were simple bare bulbs with exposed conduit running between them. Rusty metal doors concealed creaking and groaning machinery that no doubt powered and serviced the building around him.

He limped further into the hall, trying to quicken his pace, his sore hip protesting the many stairs it had been forced to navigate. According to the map, he was in the far West wing and he had only to travel in basically a straight line East until he hit the next building. John met no one and heard no sounds until he had crossed perhaps half the length of the building and reached a wide intersection of halls. He was in the heart of the complex and he slowed, edging to the side. Friendly murmurs and the occasional grunt of laughter echoed through the stone corridors and John stopped altogether, trying to get a bead on the voices. The echoes and background clanking made identifying sounds difficult.

Creeping slowly towards the corner of his hallway, he leaned carefully into the first intersection. The wide cross-hall was more brightly lit and there seemed to be a largish group of men, by the voices, gathered at one end. Blinking in the light, John crouched lower. The voices laughed again and grew rowdily raucous. A sudden grinding rumble filled every inch of the space with nearly deafening sound and John jumped, slapping his hands over his ears.

The group of men began to move slowly closer to him, the rumble moving with them and John scurried back the way he'd come, rattling doorknobs and searching for some place to hide in the otherwise featureless hall. The rumble was nearly at the intersection when a knob finally turned and a door finally grated open, its screaming creak drowned out by the groaning behind him.

John ducked through and crouched again, curiosity getting the better of him. He peeked down the hall to watch the men pass by.

An enormous cart on rusty metal wheels screeched into view, pushed by no fewer than 8 huge, filthy men dressed in common grey overalls. They seemed to be chanting or singing as they pushed the loaded vehicle, but no sound of it reached John's ears over the groaning cart. Coal perhaps, or the local equivalent? Being moved from the stores to the boiler?

John cursed the delay as another slow, moaning cart was pushed down the hall soon after the first. He considered simply walking past the workers, waving a jaunty "see ya" and going on his way until a pair of security escorts sauntered down the hall between the trainloads, resting long rifle-like weapons against their shoulders. Perhaps they were there to search for him, assuming he might seek the basements for cover. Or perhaps they simply escorted every load of coal. Either way, John sighed and turned further into the room he'd opened instead.

It was a small office of some sort, tucked in between steel pipes and enormous copper plumbing joints. As his eyes adjusted to the dim light, John saw an entire wall of blue, red and green garden-faucet-like valve handles and he idly wondered what kind of havoc turning a few of those off or on could cause. The single dented metal desk offered only a simple desk lamp, and some neatly stacked papers lay in front of the scratched wooden chair. Two other doors led off the room and John wandered over to turn the handles. One was a closet, the other was unlocked, but rusted shut.

Returning to the door, he watched yet another cart of coal grind by and another pair of armed escorts shuffle along with it, so he went to the wall of valves, flicked a spider-thing off a green one, then decided to tug on the rusted door a little bit more. He stopped when the rather annoyed tug on the handle tweaked his side, reminding him, again, that the cracked rib was still present and still sore.

He checked the door again, kicking at the chair as he passed. He was fidgety again. Agitated far beyond normal specs. He needed to get moving, he needed to get to the 'gate. He was quite certain he'd find someone to take out his nervous aggression on there. For a moment, he realized he should be thinking about what to do once he _did_ get to the Stargate. The doctor was quite correct that it was heavily guarded. He'd learned that the moment he stepped through into the arms of a dozen or so uniformed guards.

Trying to slow down his thoughts, he tried to concentrate, to remember the layout of the courtyard and think through some plan that would allow him access. He met with limited success, only managing to find ways to pace more efficiently around the small plumber's office. He checked the door again.

And froze.

The first carts were moving away, their noise fading a little as they followed whatever monotonous path they were on. But one cart was stopped dead in the intersection and the bulky coalmen were talking awkwardly to a pair of military soldiers. John recognized the black and tan design of the uniforms as the same as those who had "greeted" him at the Stargate. More people were grouped behind them, partially blocked by the cart, but John ducked quickly back into the office without taking a good look and shut the door into the hallway as quietly and slowly as he could muster with shaking hands and pounding heart.

He paced back and forth just behind the door in the dark room, the strip of light glowing through the crack at the floor providing the only light. They were on to him. Somehow they'd followed him here. No wait, that made no sense. He'd left no trail, he'd seen no one. He could be anywhere as far as they were concerned. Could they have assumed he'd make for the Stargate and just taken a guess at his most obvious path? Had he been that obvious?

He ran his hands through his hair, then leaped to the desk to yank the chair – quietly -- over to the door and prop it under the knob. A simple trick, worth a few seconds of delay should they come knocking. They won't, he thought with forced optimism. They didn't see him. There was no reason on… wherever he was…that anyone would look in this room.

The screeching rumble started up again, and John held his breath, hoping the soldiers had talked to the cart pushers, discovered nothing, and simply left. He was suddenly glad he hadn't walked blithely past those men earlier. Then he heard voices in the hallway, calling out above the shrieking noise and coming closer with every word.

"Sheppard! You can come out, it's us!"

"John, we mean you no harm. We're here to take you home."

John froze, petrified. They were calling to him. They _did_ know he was here. Holy Shit, how did they know he was here?!

John scrambled again to the desk, this time shoving the entire thing against the door and managing to wedge it against a jutting pipe. The noise as the desk slid across the concrete floor was deafening in the small room, but he was counting on the noise outside to mask the ruckus. Panting, he paced again, for the first time understanding McKay's frequent complaints about claustrophobia. He opened the closet door, then dismissed it again as a hiding spot. If they tracked him to the room, he'd be completely vulnerable in the closet.

He froze again. They tracked him. They _tracked_ him...

His right hand drifted to his left arm.

Murmurs and more shouting reached him from directly outside the hall door, and John pressed himself against the far wall, shaking with fury at being hunted and trapped like a wild animal. The door rattled and someone began to shake the knob. The chair shifted slightly, then lodged again.

"John, it's Elizabeth. We know you're not feeling well, but you have to trust us. We just want to take you home."

John blinked. How? How could they know about Elizabeth? Why would they use that name to try to lure him out? He slid further along the wall, further from the voices and his hand bumped into the jammed door he'd been unable to open before. With a snarl of frustration, he turned and yanked furiously in pure desperation. To his surprise and triumph, the door creaked and popped, and he felt a slight wiggle. Bracing himself and holding his breath against the sharp sting in his side, he yanked again. The door slid open one inch, then another.

On the far side of the room, the hall door rattled just as violently and the chair jerked, then fell over. John shot a glance at the sudden 2 inch beam of light that spilled in from the hallway, then choked in relief as the metal desk halted any further advance. His own door creaked open another millimeter and he growled with the effort of pulling it that last measure that would allow him to squeeze through.

"John, dammit! Open the door, and that's an order. Not that you ever follow them!" The desk was beginning to scoot away from the repeated banging against its corner.

For a fraction of an instant, John hesitated as he was turning to wedge his shoulder into the gap he'd forced open, mesmerized by the words that would have seemed so exasperatingly familiar if they had actually come from Elizabeth. The voice even sounded a bit like Elizabeth, he thought. A sudden rush of homesickness constricted his throat, and he cried out a furious, "No!" as he squeezed through the opening, scraping his chest painfully against the rusty metal edge.

Once on the other side, he quickly turned and began pulling the door shut again, inch by grinding inch. Inside the plumber's office, he heard the banging grow more frantic then a screeching crash as the desk gave way.

John pulled with every once of his remaining strength and his door creaked shut. There was a sturdy bolt on this side that he could just make out in the dim-orange lighting of whatever room he was now in, and he threw it.

Arms shaking, side aching, sweat dripping into his eyes, he stumbled away from the door, and sat down heavily on the damp concrete floor. He tried to stand again, then groaned, instead wrapping his arms around his middle to flop over onto his side. He could just make out the high ceiling above him and part of the large dim room around him, so thick with pipes and plumbing and banks of gauges that the walls themselves were obscured. Aside from the quiet shushing and plinking of equipment, the room was quiet and blessedly cool.

John lay for a long moment.

It was all starting to make sense, at least. He'd been right in guessing that Niklas would try to ransom him for more weapons like the ones he'd had with him when he arrived. Somehow, they'd found Atlantis, or someone from Atlantis. They had talked to Elizabeth, who, of course, had refused to bargain. But that was how they'd known her name.

He still hadn't figured out how they knew to scan for his transponder signal, but it hardly mattered. They had it, and they would find another way around the bolted door to keep looking for him. As if on cue, there was muffled banging from the plumber's office, and John startled. The sudden fearful noise propelled him – groaning and cursing – to sit up again in weary determination. He shifted on the floor, trying to find an angle that didn't pinch the protesting ribs, then gave up and lurched to his feet.

He was still looking around the room, trying to decide which way he should go when the banging stopped. John glared at the door and crossed his arms to rub a finger against the small, nearly indistinguishable lump in the skin just behind his bicep. Damn transponder.

Making a sudden decision, he turned East and worked his way through the jumbled pipes and machines. He'd lead them on a merry chase for a while, at least, he thought with evil satisfaction. In the meantime, he had some planning to do. He ducked his head and crawled between a pair of massive, dripping water pipes

When he finally found another set of doors out of the plumbing room, he peeked into the empty, quiet southbound hallway beyond, then closed them again. Turning his back and bracing himself against the doors, he reached once more for his belt buckle and slowly tugged it off.


	10. Chapter 10

"John, dammit! Open the door, and that's an order. Not that you ever follow them!"

Elizabeth immediately regretted her outburst, rolling her eyes at Teyla in embarrassment who returned the look with understanding. The dot on Rodney's scanner sat unmoving only feet away through the door that their two native guides continued to slam against.

"It's moving," one of the soldiers grunted, and the group grew tense with anxious excitement as they shouldered into the door with frantically hopeful thrusts. When it finally gave way, the guards tumbled in a few steps, raising their clubs – the only weapons Elizabeth had allowed them – and quickly looked around the room.

Rodney shouldered past with little courtesy and Elizabeth was right behind. She was the one who just caught the slight movement of the rusty door closing that last millimeter, and she raced over, tugging at the handle. Rodney and Teyla followed more slowly, looking at the dot on the screen in Rodney's hand.

"He's just sitting there on the other side of the door!" McKay groused. "Maybe he's been there the whole time."

"No, he was here. Who else would have blocked the outer door?"

"Right. So what now?" McKay halfheartedly tugged at the door himself, giving up easily when it clearly wasn't going to budge. "This thing is locked even tighter than that one was."

Elizabeth thought for a moment then turned quickly to Teyla, "Would you go get one of those men who were working the coal and bring them in here, please? Maybe they can tell us where this door goes and give us a head start on where John will come out."

Teyla nodded with an appreciative smile and dashed quickly away. Elizabeth tapped her foot in nervous impatience.

"Your friend is quite the stubborn one," one of the soldiers commented as he also joined them in glaring uselessly at the door while they waited. "I hear he was nothing but trouble up in the hospital." The soldier tugged at the door himself for a moment, then braced for a hard, forceful yank. The door barely rattled.

"Stubborn doesn't begin to describe it," Elizabeth sighed. "Usually that trait is an asset, but today…" she shrugged, then smiled at the Guardsman who was older than her by at least a decade, but quite handsome in a distinguished and proper sort of way. All of the people she'd met on Lygell seemed polite almost to a fault. It was a formal and courteous culture. She would hate living here, she decided, thinking of John's annoying wit and Rodney's caustic brilliance.

"Remind me of your name, Guardsman?" Elizabeth asked to distract herself as much as to be polite.

"Andrik, ma'am."

"You are usually posted at the Stargate, Guardsman Andrik?" Small talk seemed to be an appropriate pastime for the moment.

"Yes, usually. In fact, I was at the Portal when the Colonel was first apprehended. I still have a bruise where he got me in the scuffle." Elizabeth's eyes widened in apology and Andrik chuckled, "My own fault really. I was the one who recognized the Madman rash. I made the mistake of letting him go for a second to point it out to him. He got me with an elbow in the solar plexus. I guess he wasn't impressed with my diagnosis."

"We're grateful for your efforts, Guardsman. I understand that your observation was instrumental in getting John the care he needed."

The man only nodded and raised his eyebrow with an amused but pointed look. "My wife is a Research Doctor who just happens to be studying treatments and cures for the Madman Malaria. I'm quite familiar with the symptoms and the lingo."

"Research Doctor…?" Elizabeth repeated, held by the man's curious intensity.

"Yes. In fact, my wife is the one who treated your Colonel."

Elizabeth sucked in an embarrassed breath, "Was she the one…?"

"Who the Colonel held at knife point and then tied into a chair? Yes."

Elizabeth just shook her head ruefully, but was watching Andrik carefully. She was suddenly a bit nervous about having a man who had every right to be carrying a grudge on the search party. Any retribution the Guardsman might be tempted to take out on the deluded Sheppard, however justified, would only make it that much more difficult and dangerous to recover him.

As if he were reading her thoughts directly, Andrik smiled a genuinely reassuring smile, "I saw Mahala briefly after hospital security discovered and released her. She was fuming mad…at _herself_. She feels quite mortified that her treatment only resulted in more complications for your Colonel. It was she, in fact, who insisted I join the search party so I could make sure, on her behalf, that no more harm comes to him. I tried to tell her that none of this could possibly be her fault, but…" Andrik gave a careless wave.

Elizabeth grinned, just as suddenly deciding she really liked this genteel Gentleman of the Guard. "Stubborn?" she asked.

"Stubborn doesn't begin to describe it," replied Andrik ruefully.

Just then Teyla arrived with a jolly looking coal carter and Elizabeth turned her focus back to finding John. The coal man was hefting a heavy rubber hammer that he first tried on the door, banging off ages of rust and disuse. The door still refused to budge, although it did rattle a bit more on its hinges.

The large man, tipped back his cap and wiped his brow. "Must have a bolt on the inside, then. Most of them do. This door here goes into the plumbing room. Lots of doors in and out of there, but all open to the north or east."

"Sheppard's moving!" Rodney suddenly exclaimed.

"Which way?" Elizabeth prompted.

"East. He's still making a beeline for the Stargate."

"Let's go. Thank you," Elizabeth remembered to say to the coal man. This was a formal and courteous society.

The group of 5 pursuers jogged quickly down the hall back towards the intersection where they'd first seen the coal carts. Rodney glanced at the scanner then waved them North in the direction those same carts had been moving. They slowed down again, ducked into another hallway and walked towards a large set of swinging double doors behind which a low roar rumbled. The air around them grew stiflingly hot the closer they got.

Rodney paused before pushing the doors open. "This makes no sense. Sheppard's way off any route to the 'gate at this point. My scanner says the room ahead is a dead end!"

"Good. Maybe he got lost. If it's a dead end, we can corner him here."

"It's a really big room, though. Really big dead end."

Elizabeth nodded and turned to Andrik, "Would you and your man stay here when we go in? If Sheppard gets around us, you can stop him before he goes any further." Andrik nodded, and waved a command to his companion. They slipped into easy position by the door.

"Let's go."

Rodney and Elizabeth followed Teyla through and Elizabeth gasped at the blast of heat that washed over them as they passed into the boiler room. Three huge furnaces stood glowing and crackling as the burly coal men shoveled the loads from the carts into the red-hot maws. There was no sign of Sheppard and Rodney walked further into the room with his palm scanner held out before him, slowly approaching the furthest cart.

The swarm of working men cast curious looks in their direction, even as they continued their shoveling, or strolled among the carts with their shovels slung over their shoulders. When Rodney reached the cart he was stalking, he waved Teyla over who quickly drew her Wraith handstunner -- one of those "requests" Elizabeth had demanded of Torvik. Moving stealthily, Teyla took a deep breath, then lunged, throwing her arms over the cart's edge and sweeping the stunner over the half empty space. She shot a questioning glance at McKay who just shrugged back.

"The scanner says he's right…..there?"

As Rodney spoke, the very curious coal man dipped his enormous shovel into the cart 's open end once again and flung another large scoop of rocks into the nearest glowing furnace. Rodney's hand, scanner still pointing out of it, followed the flying rocks in a graceful arch to come to rest aimed squarely at the furnace's mouth too.

The dot went out.

Elizabeth glared at Rodney as he suddenly flopped his arm to his side and dropped his chin into his chest in an exaggerated display of exasperation.

"Rodney, what just happened?" Elizabeth demanded.

Waving his arms, McKay announced sulkily, "Sheppard ditched the transponder and threw it into a coal cart. He's not here. We've been chasing the proverbial wild goose."

Teyla nodded sadly, "And the goose just got cooked," she said, pointing to the furnace, completely unaware of the humor in her statement. Rodney grinned widely at the accidental turn of phrase and shot a look at Elizabeth who closed her eyes, unable to suppress a small chuckle. Then she sighed deeply.

"Let's go then. We'll have to track him the old fashioned way."

"What way is that?" groused Rodney, annoyed that their superior technology had failed them so spectacularly.

"Sheer dumb luck…" she muttered, and turned to jog purposefully out of the room.

* * *

_Author's note: Here is your fix for the next two or three days. Surely by Monday or Tuesday everyone will have finished Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows and will be ready to read Stargate again! I'll diligently finish up the story and post once the reading marathons have ended and everyone has had a nice nap. Oh, wait...I mean after MY reading marathon has ended and I'VE had a nice nap. ha! Enjoy!_


	11. Chapter 11

John jogged East underneath the hospital, pleased with his ruse even as he realized it would only give him a few minutes of a head start. He would have to change his course soon, pick a less direct route to the Stargate. But, he hoped he could at least clear the East Wing before that became imperative. He simply hoped he'd find something like that helpful little fire escape sign that could give him an idea of where he actually was going. He was headed towards a governmental district. Government buildings always had signs and directories, didn't they?

John shoved the rest of the sandwich he'd stolen into his mouth then fussed again with the grimy handkerchief he'd tied around his upper left arm over the ragged gouge in his flesh. His belt was back around his waist.

The main, Eastbound hall he was following ended at a solid, concrete block wall, dimly lit by more orange bulbs. The corridor that paralleled the wall retreated into dimness in both directions and John paused. He needed to go North, so he looked off to the left. Catching sight of a glowing doorway that looked suspiciously like a stairwell entrance, he smiled and jogged towards the light. A familiar little square of a map confirmed that he had reached the end of the East Wing and he started upwards again after a long careful listen for footsteps and voices.

Unlike the West stairwell, this one was brightly lit and John approached the main floor's landing with great caution. Cheerful voices sent him scurrying back down a level to avoid the couple that entered soon after. They immediately went upstairs, and John scrubbed his face. If this Wing was this crowded, he'd never make it through the main part of the building, and the basements clearly didn't connect to other buildings like the upper hallways seemed to.

He started to fidget and suddenly wished he had his jumper. Not only could the little craft skim over the rooftops directly into the Stargate, it could blast any resistance out of the way once he got there. He rubbed his hands on his pants and ducked again as another local began to tap up the stairs. A curious idea was tickling his thoughts and he suddenly poked out his head, and began jogging up the stairs himself.

He listened carefully and climbed so as not to overtake the previous climbers, then raced past the 1st floor landing, then the 2nd. He paused once again as someone entered just above him from the 3rd floor, breathed a sigh of relief as they also headed upwards and marveled at his luck. Landing after landing, he kept climbing. By the 6th floor, his sore thigh was trembling with each step and he was pressing his elbow tightly into the taped ribs, breathing quickly to avoid breathing deeply.

One more flight of stairs brought him face to – feet ? – with a whole group of descending orange-coated, scientist-types and he froze mid-step, turning his chest to the wall and looking away to avoid any probing glances. The men and women in the group were chatting calmly, unalarmed, and the first one scooted over just a bit to move around John. The rest followed suit and kept going. John began to climb slowly again himself so as not to draw curious attention, and then he was past, exhaling in relief and trying to tell his heart that it needn't pound quite so hard.

"Do you know what all the fuss is about?" One of the voices asked casually, the words drifting up and sounding hollow among the stairwell's echoes. John, now safely around the next turn, paused to listen in.

"You mean all the security types buzzing around and nosing into all the rooms? Quite annoying actually, and I plan to tell Director Niklas as much the second I see him next."

"I heard that the government was hiding a captured terrorist in the building, and that he escaped!" The third voice sounded eager to contribute to the conversation, but John didn't hear what the voice's friends thought about this declaration. The group had passed on into the 5th floor hallway and out of earshot.

John smirked. So, now HE was the terrorist. That was certainly good political spin he thought. Then he sighed and forced his aching body up more stairs. The overheard conversation proved, if anything, that he needed to get out of the building, and soon.

When he reached the 7th level, the lights over the flight of steps that continued upwards were dimmed again and John gasped in relief. He'd reached the top, or almost, and he turned into them, with weary determination. He was looking for roof access -- it might not be as good as the view from a jumper, but he'd have a bird's-eye view of some of the area at least. John thanked his luck again when the stairs ended in an empty, attic-like but huge space. A creaky set of metal stairs climbed up to a skylight and John heaved himself higher, pushed open the grimy frosted glass cover above his head, then was soon blinking in bright, late morning sunlight.

The building he was standing on was the tallest around by a couple of floors, and a light, but desiccatingly dry and chilly breeze sucked the moisture out of his lungs and dried the sweat off his brow. John suddenly shivered as the air cooled his sweat-damp T-shirt. No wonder these people stay indoors, he thought.

He lowered the cover and started to walk over the crunchy gravel roof towards its edge when he suddenly hopped a few steps, picking up his feet in a prance at the feeling of sharp prickles against his soles. He lifted one heel and was shocked to see filthy used-to-be-white socks sticking out from under the equally dirty grey slacks. He froze with his foot in the air before him. He had been walking this whole time in socks? He'd climbed countless stairs and run the full length of the building without noticing? Fuckin' Yippee ki yi yay!

As if the discovery had flipped a switch from his mind to his body, he suddenly shuddered violently and wrapped his arms around himself against the chill. His arm throbbed under the grimy cloth, and his side ached with every movement and every breath. Still huddling into himself, he limped over to the edge of the roof and leaned on his hands over the low ledge.

The colony these people had built was beautiful, if a bit jumbled. Buildings seemed placed at random, and each had its own combination of architecture and composition such that each structure seemed completely unrelated to the one next to it. The whole city was densely overbuilt, and rooftop rose to rooftop in an interesting pattern of heights and shapes.

Just below, John could see a suspended, covered corridor march off from the "hospital" through a series of lush green courtyards. More covered corridors split off the main hall to connect to the jumble of buildings that bordered the courts. The Courtyard itself was the only green or ground he could see in any direction from this angle.

Pulling himself away from admiring the neighborhood, he put his mind to figuring out where he was. He could guess that the long suspended hallway was the Ministry Corridor the doctor had mentioned. But where did he go next? Which building was the Security building? His eyes fell on the stocky, block building at the far North end of the gardens. It seemed far older than the structures around it.

With sudden intensity, John squinted and stared at the blocky shape and licked his lips with anticipation. He recognized that building. From here he could just make out the intricate and deeply patterned stonework on the building's exterior walls. The ancient texture to the stone reminded John of castles he'd seen in England, and he remembered thinking he'd landed in a castle his very first moments on this planet.

Of course, he'd had 6 guys sitting on him in the only seconds he'd had to look around, but the sense of familiarity was strong. Weary hope competed with the aching doubt that was growing in his chest. He was still unsure that he really could get off this world. Not without help, and help wasn't coming. Fiercely, he forced aside the desperate lonliness that threatened to overwhelm him in every unguarded moment. He had the destination, he could see the route. He just needed be able to fly, or go invisible to get there. Yeah, he really missed his jumper.

The wind whipped around him in a frosty gust, moaning over the corners of the building as John keenly scanned the roofs that were packed into the city. The Eastmost building was almost as tall as this one. It was a bit too far to jump, but if he _could_ make it to that roof, perhaps he could climb from roof to roof the rest of the way and skip the interior hallways altogether? Now that was a plan, he decided a bit desperately! He wouldn't exactly be invisible, but he'd certainly be off the usual paths and hidden from searching eyes.

"Colonel Sheppard. You have no idea how pleased I am to see you."

Or not.

John whipped around at the deep voice, then backed into the ledge. Niklas stood at the edge of the skylight between two ubiquitous, bulky security types with a smug sneer. "I have some idea," John retorted, utterly shocked that anyone could have found him. "I'm a little surprised to be seen."

"Your surprise is no less than mine, frankly. I seem to owe the obnoxious Dr. Fang a debt of gratitude for complaining about the disruption to his schedule your escape has caused, and most importantly, for demanding that security be sent to remove the filthy vagrant he'd just seen loitering on the stairs. I was only too happy to comply."

John looked nervously between the guards and Niklas who was looking far too pleased with himself for John's liking. "I seem to owe Dr. Fang a few words of my own," John groused. He took a quick look behind him and gulped at the seven story drop into the courtyards below. Bracing his hands on the ledge to keep them from shaking, he next studied the distance between him and the skylight back into the building.

"Perhaps if we run into him on our way back down, I'll let you speak with him," Niklas said charmingly, waving the guards forward. "In the meantime, come along with us Colonel. My men will escort you."

John leaned back further over the ledge in a terrified cringe. "Hi there, Julan," John found himself saying as he suddenly recognized one of the men advancing on him. "How's the nose feeling?"

"Hurts like hell," Julan answered, almost politely. But the revenge in his eyes was bright. "How're the ribs?"

"Hurt like hell," John admitted. "You won't get me back in a cell," he blurted out in a rush, the defiant statement frighteningly determined. Terror was rapidly turning into panic, and he blinked back visions of needles and restraints. He wouldn't go back. He would jump off the roof first.

He must have telegraphed the thought because Niklas also glanced warily at the edge that was all too close. Waving brusquely at Julan to slow up, he called out in a voice that he surely meant to be reassuring, "You need not worry, Colonel. We have no intention of taking you to hospital confinement again. Your people are also looking for you, so we will be taking you directly to the Stargate."

"And why should I believe that? Your happy-drugs didn't work, remember?" John growled, pushing off the wall to ready his stance. He willed the panic into adrenaline and felt himself almost vibrating with a frantic desperation. They wouldn't get him without a fight. He'd made a pretty good go of it with Julan before. He could definitely get by him this time with more room to maneuver. Yeah, sure. He could do that. Too bad he didn't have his belt ready…

"Because, in fact, it happens to be the truth," Niklas's smile was sly. "And because you are much too valuable to simply lock away!"

"Yeah, you told me that before. And I told you my people won't bargain for me. They're not here. They're not coming." John took a calculating look at the second guard. _He was leaving his stance too narrow_, John thought. _He'll go down at the buckle._

Niklas and Julan exchanged a look and Julan inched forward again. "If you are a representative example, I really do believe that your people are just stubborn enough to refuse to trade, even for one of their own. Luckily, that is not our intention either. We simply…wish to establish the proper relationship with your people. Perhaps you can be as helpful to us as you have been to the Gellans." Julan snickered a bit at the silkily polite phrasing.

John edged further to one side, angling for the position he wanted and not really listening to Niklas. The longer the man yammered on, the longer John had to plan. "If all you wanted was help, you should have just asked. Nicely."

And with that, John lunged off the ledge and slammed his heel into the 2nd guard's stomach, throwing him back and off his feet with a satisfying _whoof_ of surprise. Julan roared with malicious eagerness and dove towards John with outstretched arms. John simply ducked the unaffectionate embrace and threw his shoulder into Julan's. The bulky guard had the weight advantage, but John had the angle and Julan stumbled sideways to land on his hands and knees.

Grinning, John reset his own balance and turned towards the hole in the roof thinking he only needed to descend a couple of floors before he could find a window that looked out onto a neighboring roof. The grin vanished, and he skidded to a stop as two more thugs poked their heads out of the skylight and scrambled onto the roof. One of them wore a black and tan uniform, and John thought he looked familiar, but couldn't place him. The gravel crunched behind him as Julan regained his feet with an angry snarl.

He was surrounded.

John stood shivering in the cold rooftop air, gasping from exertion and terror. Panic and anxiety melted away from him, leaving behind desperate sorrow and a feeling he'd only felt once before, and never in combat: utter despair.

His friend, Julan, wouldn't be taken by surprise again. John was far too light to overcome four heavyweights outright. Not to mention that he was beaten up and exhausted. A cold shiver of dread dropped into his gut that had nothing to do with the wind.

He'd failed. There was no way out. And he wouldn't go back. The despair won out and John spun on his heel towards the edge of the roof, throwing every last bit of his energy in propelling himself forward. Elizabeth would be pissed, he thought with tired amusement.

"Stop him!" shrieked Niklas.

John darted past Julan's clumsy grab and gathered himself for a last desperate leap when the nearest guard made a lunge for John's feet. He missed, but his flailing arms fouled John's stride and he stumbled, landing hard on his knees, then rolling and skidding against the ledge on his side. It was all over.

Two guards grabbed for his arms and pinned them painfully into the gravel. John kicked wildly and another brute threw himself over John's legs. He still writhed and twisted until a savage boot in his side yanked a scream from his throat and he coughed violently from the force against his chest. Even then, the agony only held him still for a moment and he managed wrench one arm free for a second to deal out a couple of good blows. He heard Julan curse fiercely as John connected again with the man's face.

His arm was quickly captured again and held into the ground, this time with a savage twist, and John whimpered in frustration.

"Gentlemen, move off his legs, this sedative goes in the thigh." Niklas sounded annoyed.

John rolled his head towards the Director who was fiddling with a syringe. "No…no, no!" gasped John, and he abruptly stopped fighting, holding himself still in rigid terror. "No more drugs. Please, no more drugs…"

Niklas narrowed his eyes and John forced himself to sound reasonably persuasive, managing to get as far as hysterically sincere. "No more drugs. I'll…I'll go with you. I won't fight. Just… please…"

Niklas seemed to think through the offer for a moment, then fixed John with a glare. "If you are good to your word, it _would_ be better for you to meet your people in a lucid state. Not to mention the hassle of carrying you to the Stargate…" Niklas held John's gaze for a long moment, then John nodded.

"I'll walk," he said. John didn't believe for a second that they had any intention of taking him to the Stargate, but he would play along long enough to find out what _was_ going on. Or long enough to find a way to end this once and for all.

Niklas pocketed the syringe, then the four thugs roughly hauled John to his feet at Niklas command. John growled loudly as his body shrieked in protest at the movement. Friend Julan seemed to have finished off that rib, he thought as he felt a grinding stab with every shallow breath. While they all waited for him to get his feet under him, John looked up at Julan and cracked a weary grin when he saw the man swiping at a trickle of blood from his nose. Julan did not look happy with Niklas's decision to let John walk.

"Hey," John smirked at the disgruntled guard, "You look like you need a tissue there, big guy."

Julan twisted John's arm at the bandage and John cried out, regretting his big mouth.

"That's enough," Niklas rebuked mildly. "Colonel Sheppard, I am going to quite enjoy getting rid of you."

"When you hand me over to my people at the Stargate, you mean?" John gasped, the sarcasm heavy in his voice.

"Of course," was Niklas's silky reply.

The men hauled John forward and they began towards the skylight. John looked long and hard at Niklas as he was marched by, but he kept walking. He would cooperate. For now.


	12. Chapter 12

Elizabeth walked alongside Andrik through the Ministry of Security in anxious haste, Rodney and Teyla jogging along close behind them. They'd gotten word that John had been captured and was being taken to the Stargate. While she would have eventually requested at much herself, she also would have liked to meet up with the group that caught him first. She was worried about John and about the kind of treatment he was receiving at the hands of forces unknown.

As they turned off the long and beautiful walkway that looked out over lush green gardens, she noticed a frown on Andrik's face. The distinguished guardsman looked troubled, which seemed out of character from her limited experience, but he caught her scrutiny and flashed a reassuring smile.

The last few turns through the ancient building were narrow and twisty and Elizabeth was glad that Andrik was along to guide them. When they reached the doors that opened into the Stargate's stone courtyard, he paused just inside and, with a quick glance around the space, gestured Elizabeth towards Minister Torvik and another man who had spotted them and were striding hastily in their direction. She took a few steps further before she noticed Andrik hadn't accompanied her. With a puzzled smile, she said, "You won't join us, Guardsman?"

Andrik bowed courteously then shook his head, "I'm not on duty in the courtyard, ma'am. I'm not allowed in further." At her further consternation, he added with a smile, "Your Colonel would appreciate the security protocols that dictate such restrictions."

Elizabeth smiled back, "Then I thank you Guardsman Andrik for your help. Please send our people's apologies and deep appreciation to your wife." Andrik grinned and nodded, then settled his back against the wall just to the side of the door in easy sentry.

" Elizabeth! Have ya seen the Colonel yet? Is he well? Do ya need me?"

Elizabeth turned and smiled, throwing her arms wide to give Carson Beckett a warm, welcoming hug. That was the second request she'd demanded of Minister Torvik -- that Beckett be contacted and allowed to the planet. Apparently he'd just arrived.

"No, I haven't seen John yet, Carson, but I'm really glad you're here. I'm worried about him."

"Aye, we all are, lass. Minister Torvik here tells me to expect him soon."

Torvik nodded and extended his hand in an Earth-style handshake, "Indeed. I was quite relieved when Hospital Director Niklas telephoned. He and the hospital security guards who apprehended the Colonel are on their way here."

Elizabeth nodded, then automatically scanned the court for Lorne, making a mental count of all her people, and planning to return to Atlantis as fast as they could dial out. She spotted him standing and laughing quite amiably with the guardsman they'd first spoken to. Apparently the two had hit it off during his time with them. He gave a jaunty wave and patted his P-90 mischievously. Teyla grinned too, and sauntered over to recover her sidearm and her own P-90 from him.

Torvik coughed politely to regain Elizabeth's attention. "You'll be eager to leave when the Colonel arrives, so allow me to say now that I do hope you won't hold this unfortunate incident against our colony and that you would consider opening trade relationships with our Ministry of Offworld Relations."

"We will send a delegation back soon, Minister," Elizabeth promised, forcing herself to nod politely as Torvik droned on about a trade relationship. She was getting more worried, the longer she waited. She kept shooting glances at the door into the courtyard and saw Teyla doing the same from her spot next to Lorne by the DHD. Catching their eye, she nodded them over. She wanted them to take custody the second he did arrive.

"Ah, here they are!" Torvik at last announced grandly. Elizabeth held her breath as the Courtyard's doors swung open wide to admit the man she recognized from their brief introduction earlier as Director Niklas. A black and tan garbed Guardsman followed him along with a cluster of burly hospital security-types and Elizabeth jostled shoulders with Teyla and Rodney for a first glimpse of John.

When she finally spotted him, well secured by 3 pairs of firm hands, she gasped and put her hand to her mouth. She heard Carson beside her voice a similar expression of dismay.

John looked…terrible.

His soggy black shirt was filthy and creased, his pants equally unkept and…was he walking in bare socks? He limped along with his escort and seemed to be favoring his left side, holding his elbow as close to his ribs as the men holding him would allow. But even the dark bruise on his neck and the streaks of dried blood on his arm were nowhere as disconcerting as John's face. He blinked nervously and his wild, wary eyes darted around the courtyard in restless agitation.

He looked manic, strung-out; like a drug addict who had once accosted Elizabeth back on Earth, demanding a handout and screaming at her when she'd refused. "Oh, my God…" she breathed, unprepared for the extent of John's deterioration into madness.

"John, are…are you alright?" Teyla called uncertainly, taking a step towards him.

At her voice, John's head snapped in their direction and he immediately began to buck and lean towards them. " Elizabeth. Don't do it!" He fought harder, even as the men around him rushed to tighten their grips, "Whatever they want, don't give it to them. Whatever they want you to do, don't do it!" His voice was a ragged shout, hoarse with terror and abuse.

While Elizabeth and the rest of the Atlantians stood stunned, Torvik walked to Niklas and shook his hand. "I assure you, Colonel Sheppard, we wish nothing from your people but a friendly relationship. Director Niklas, I thank you for your help in this matter."

Niklas's voice was equally polite, "You are welcome, Minister. I am more than happy to help make the most of this unfortunate situation."

"No!" Screamed John, " Elizabeth, don't listen to him. Niklas is a terrorist. I know what I saw. His traders were gathering intel, they passed it on at the Village, they picked up weapons, Niklas met them at the….Arrrrgh."

Elizabeth snapped out of her dismay and stepped forward angrily as one of John's escorts, a man with a broken nose, threw an elbow at the side John was favoring, cutting his ranting off with a howl of pain. "Minister! Tell your men to release Colonel Sheppard immediately into our custody!" She was furious at John's condition, and threw an angry look Andrik's way in grim understanding at his and his wife's concern for John's safety. All she saw was Andrik's back as he slipped quietly out of the courtyard. She was suddenly furious with him, too. He could have backed her up here, protocol or not.

Torvik's spluttered in alarm at the guard's harsh treatment. "Of course! Niklas, release the Colonel to his own people at once."

"I'm sorry, Minister, I can't do that."

There was sudden hush in the courtyard as Torvik turned to stare at Niklas.

" Elizabeth…It's a trap. Get out." John pleaded raggedly into the silence.

"What is the meaning of this, Director?" Torvik demanded.

A smile slid slowly across the Niklas's face. "Lower your weapons!" He bellowed. "You are now at the mercy of the resistance."

There was a sudden scuffle and Elizabeth looked around to see Niklas and all of the guards he'd come with, plus a handful of Portal Guardsmen from among the group on duty, aiming projectile weapons at the remaining guards and her own people. A look of annoyed fury crossed Lorne's face as the Terrorist nearest him jerked his gun to indicate that Lorne should drop his. Clenching his P-90 all the more tightly, Lorne flicked a look at his new friend who seemed equally stunned and angry and Elizabeth saw a second of resolve flash across the Major's face. She started to shout a warning.

"Stand down, Major!" Sheppard beat her to it, lunging against the hands that held him and Lorne checked the impulse, automatically responding to his superior's command. The Lygellan guardsman, however, brought his own weapon to bear and fired off a round at the insurgent nearest him who went down with a jerk, then pivoted to fire on another.

The terrorists responded before he got off a second shot, and the brave guard jerked with the impact of several bullets, crumpling to the ground. A terrorist wearing the uniform of the Portal Guard just behind Lorne put his handgun against the back of Lorne's head when the grief-stricken Major started towards his colleague. Lorne froze in surprise at the close proximity of the threat, then slowly laid down his weapons.

Sheppard's shout had saved his life, thought Elizabeth. Lorne hadn't seen the disguised man so close behind him. She glanced once over at Beckett who was kneeling over the fallen guardsman. She had never learned the guardsman's name, she realized. Beckett just shook his head sadly at her look.

"What do you want?" demanded Elizabeth firmly, fixing her fury on Niklas. Damn John for being right. Damn these people for letting this happen.

Niklas chuckled, a harsh humorless sound. "We want you people to stop interfering with our colonies. We want you off of Gellan."

"These people were on Gellan at the invitation of Minister Lucus. They're only there because of your damned _resistance, _in the first place. Talk sense, Niklas, or shut up." Elizabeth raised an eyebrow at the stern authority in Torvik's voice and she suddenly understood why this man was Security Minister: he was as tough as he was diplomatic.

Niklas was unimpressed though, and he waved the group with Sheppard closer to the Stargate as the rest of his men began to force the loyal Guards and the Atlantians to lie on the ground, kicking weapons aside and forming a defensive perimeter around them all. Elizabeth kept her eyes on John, distracted by his stumbling steps and vaguely manic expression.

When only Torvik and Elizabeth herself remained standing, Niklas shifted his own weapon, and began to dial an address at the DHD. "Minister Lucus has already paid the price for his arrogance. He's a prisoner of war until such time as the governments of Gellan, Gemman, and Lygell agree to negotiations. Colonel Sheppard will serve as example for outsiders who interfere in our confederation."

A spike of fear suddenly sank into Elizabeth's gut, and she called out with hasty fear, "Sheppard's no good to you as a hostage! You must know that our government does not negotiate with terrorists, nor bargain with them. But if you let him go, if you leave this place and just go, I would be willing to work with all of you to start peace talks between your governments as a neutral party."

Niklas just laughed, "Neutral? You've already staked your alliance with Gellan."

Elizabeth shook her head firmly. "We offer training and experience only, and that we offer freely to any responsible government who asks it of us. We ask only friendship in return, and allies against the Wraith."

"So if we were to request this "training" of you as well, you would agree with welcoming arms?" Niklas tone was mocking and he waved his arms in a ridiculously broad embrace.

"If you ceased your terrorist agenda and entered peace talks with your homeworlds, then we would consider offering you our friendship." Elizabeth took a single, assertive step forward, then said, "You don't want to be our enemy."

Niklas ignored her and finished dialing, smiling grimly as the Stargate made its connection and splashed into a placid gurgle. Elizabeth caught Lorne squirming on the ground nearby, still smoldering with grief and fury. Rodney kept looking back and forth between her and the turncoat director.

"I will be sure to pass along your generous offer, Dr. Weir," Niklas said with syrupy insincerity. "In the meantime, we still have a message to deliver," he waved the guards holding Sheppard closer to the Stargate and moved around the DHD himself.

Elizabeth felt despair wash through her, and she balled her fists, choking back a scream of frustration. She looked at Teyla and saw the same terror and rage on the young woman's face. Then she looked at John who hung limply between his two escorts and dully watched his fate being determined in front of him. For a moment her eyes locked with his across the courtyard. She'd failed. She'd failed him.

John just quirked half a grin and jerked his head in a "well, you had to try" kind of shrug.

Elizabeth squared her shoulders and said the hardest thing she ever had to say, "We won't bargain for Sheppard. We don't negotiate with terrorists." Her voice trembled with the effort.

But Niklas just laughed airily. "I believe you Dr. Weir. Colonel Sheppard was quite helpful in explaining that particular…custom…of your people. Therefore, our message will be of quite a different nature."

With that, Niklas spun towards Sheppard who stood framed in front of the 'gate and raised his weapon with frightening speed to point squarely at John's chest. Elizabeth gasped with terrified understanding.

"Niklas!" she yelled, then squeezed her eyes shut against the blast of sound that exploded from Niklas's weapon.

Or…did the sound come from behind her?

More shots were fired, and there was yelling and chaos all around. Understanding nothing at the moment but her concern for John, she jerked her eyes back to the Stargate and finally spotted him through a melee of running and shouting soldiers. He lay on the ground, clutching at his side but scooting himself out of the way of terrorists leaping and stumbling into the flickering event horon.

"Dr. Weir, get down!"

Lorne was suddenly beside her, yanking on her arm to throw her to the ground next to McKay who was mumbling something about circling wagons and the cavalry. Lorne dropped to his knee beside her and squeezed off several more rounds and then…

It was over as soon as it had started.

Elizabeth raised her head carefully to look around. A line of stern-faced, tan and black clad Portal Guards were sweeping the courtyard with long sniper rifles. Lorne, Teyla and the other original loyal guards were walking among the prone figures on the ground, kicking away weapons from the hands of terrorists, dead and wounded alike.

Relieved but still puzzled, she scrambled to her feet and looked down the line of the "Cavalry" as Rodney had called them. A handsome, older, guardsman stepped out of the group and waved a command for the line to spread out through the courtyard, then lowered his own weapon to an at-ease position. Andrik then walked with long, crisp strides towards Torvik.

Elizabeth smiled, then shuddered with relief, even as she was turning to jog hastily over to the Stargate. Beckett had beaten her to John of course, and she dropped to one knee at his side. John sat against the solid circle of the 'gate itself with one leg and his hand flopped into the event horizon. The other hand he still had pressed into his side and Elizabeth exclaimed at the sight of thick blood oozing through his fingers. "John! You've been shot!"

"That's usually what happens when someone points a gun at you and shouts _hasta_ _la vista, baby_." John panted the sarcastic quip, then grimaced, clutching his side more tightly. Elizabeth could feel the energy of the event horizon crackling at her shoulder, and tried to scoot John's leg out of the puddle while Carson pried the hand away and pressed a thick compress into the bullet wound. John resisted her tug, and shoved the leg in another inch or two.

"He won't let me move him away from the Stargate, either" Carson complained, his medical kit spread out beside him.

"Then get me Lorne," John demanded, his voice shallow but fierce.

"I'm here, sir!" Lorne exclaimed, surprised to be called upon. He'd just come over to check on his CO's condition. The Major dropped to his knee at Sheppard's feet to be able to see his face.

"Report, Major."

"Five of the terrorists escaped through the Stargate, the rest were killed or injured…"

"Niklas?"

"Dead, sir. Andrik, here, got him." There was no regret in the Major's voice as he reported and Elizabeth looked up to see Andrik standing nearby. She flashed him a grateful grin which he returned with a reserved nod.

John sighed and sank a little further against the ring. "Can this Andrik muster a strike force in 30 minutes?" he asked.

"No, Colonel. We're not geared for rapid offworld deployment." Andrik answered the question himself.

"How long?" John was fading, even as Elizabeth saw him fighting to finish his train of thought. He closed his eyes and rolled his head back against the Stargate too."

Andrik considered carefully. "Two hours."

John cursed, then sighed. "Lorne?"

"Still here, sir."

"You got the address?"

"For where your foot and half your leg is trying to go? Yes, sir." Elizabeth was surprised at the confidence with which Lorne had answered. Even if they still had the seven symbols, which they did, there were still many possible combinations to try. Then she suddenly remembered Lorne shifting on the ground while Niklas dialed.

"You were watching him dial!" She exclaimed, the pride and respect clear in her voice.

"Yes, ma'am," Lorne beamed.

"Day One at the John Sheppard school of chasing bad guys," John managed to wisecrack, but then he grew serious again. "Andrik, muster your strike force. Lorne…dial fast."

"Yes, sir," Lorne's voice was soft and he took a long, calculating look at his C/O before he heaved himself to his feet again. "Andrik, do you understand what needs to be done?"

Andrik nodded crisply, "Yes. I'll alert my superiors immediately. I'm certain they will agree to your suggestions. Major Lorne, would you do us the honor of lending assistance with our preparations?"

"Be happy to, Guardsman. Give me a second, then I'll explain what needs to be done with the DHD." Andrik nodded, then strode away.

"Now then, Colonel. Are you happy? Can we get your leg out of this bloody 'gate and get you to Atlantis where you belong?" Carson was all business and Elizabeth had been watching his frown deepen as he repeatedly checked John's pulse.

"Can't, doc." It was Lorne who answered. "We have to keep the 'gate open. Otherwise, the guys that went through will just…get away."

"Then let them get away, son! You cut off the serpent's head. You don't need to go killin' yourselves to chase the tail."

"You don't understand. If we close the 'gate, the terrorists will move their whole operation to another planet before we could send so much as a MALP through. This is our only chance to not only find their current, or at least _a_ current base of operations, but to keep them there. We'll keep their 'gate busy with an inbound wormhole until we're ready to go. Assuming we can dial fast enough every 38 minutes…"

Carson started to argue, then saw the steely determination on both Lorne's and his patient's face. "Well, the Colonel doesn't have to be the one with his bloody foot in the door the whole time, now does he?"

"Nope." And Lorne stuck his own arm through, looking around for a Jr. officer to hand the duty off on.

"You satisfied Colonel? John?"

But Sheppard was lost deep in his own world of pain and confusion. He began to thrash his head and mutter as Carson and Elizabeth frantically pulled him free of the 'gate. "He needs a hospital, now!" Carson snapped, even as he was ransacking his med kit and yanking out more supplies.

"No! No more drugs. Don't do it. Elizabeth won't trade," John muttered on, and Elizabeth's heart broke at the plaintive moaning. She stroked his forehead, which was about the only spot on his body that wasn't battered or bloody, and lightly touched the mottled skin on his arms – evidence of the virus, she now knew.

She smiled with weary amusement at the dirty cloth around his arm, then sighed as she wondered how many times she would be called upon to sacrifice John to a political ideal. How many times she would have to refuse to deal with the devil for his life, when all she wanted to do, in her heart, was give them whatever they wanted and bring him home safely. She wanted all her people home safely.

John groaned again, a defiant sort of whimper, and Elizabeth knew that John would not share her sentiment. Even sick and deluded, he'd understood his place.

"There are medical personnel here," Teyla interrupted Elizabeth's thoughts as the she walked briskly up to them. "They wish to know if the Colonel will be treated here or at home?"

Elizabeth shared a long look with Carson. "Two hours," she said. The 'gate would be occupied for that long.

Carson sighed. "Right. Teyla, lass, tell these people that they have another patient." Teyla scurried off and John was soon surrounded by local paramedics, wearing scrubs in the light orange that seemed to be the designation for medical personnel on this world.

There was a moment's excitement when John roused during the painful process of loading him onto a gurney and panicked at the huddle of orange figures surrounding him. A wrestling match and a few choice Gaelic curse phrases later, and John was hustled out of the courtyard and back towards the hospital wing, blissfully unconscious, Beckett trotting along by his head holding an IV.

Elizabeth watched them go, shaking her head. She was quite certain that if Beckett hadn't been there to calm him out of his panicky fear, John would have jumped off the gurney and _run_ out of the courtyard. She must make sure that one of them was with him when he regained consciousness after surgery. She remained staring at the doors until the group had disappeared completely, and found herself shooting looks that way even as she was quickly immersed in several conversations with Lorne, Torvik and the Commander of the Guard as the Lygellans hastily prepared for their strike through the Stargate.

It was another hour before there was a quiet moment again, and Elizabeth found herself standing away from the gathering group of soldiers next to Andrik. She watched the activity idly, but her thoughts were with John, somewhere in an alien hospital depending on resources, state unknown, to save his life. At least he had Beckett, she thought hopefully. Beckett could save his live with a teaspoon and some paper towels...and his medkit.

"Andrik," she said suddenly, "Will you tell me something?"

"If it is within my power to tell, I will be pleased to."

"Why did you leave the courtyard when you did? How did you know to bring reinforcements so quickly?"

Andrik nodded thoughtfully. "When the Colonel was brought in by Director Niklas, he told you that Niklas was a terrorist. That a group of our traders had been collaborating offworld. Mahala had said he told her exactly the same thing."

Elizabeth shrugged with embarrassment, "I was so upset by John's condition, I just thought he was raving nonsense."

Andrik just turned to Elizabeth, his face was sad and stern. "I believed him," he said.


	13. Chapter 13

John was starting to really hate orange.

After a week in the Lygellan hospital, he'd finally stopped flinching every time he saw an orange coat go by, but he was quite certain that he'd never get over the feeling of dread whenever someone approached him in that color. It was truly odd, he thought, how his memories got all mixed up when he thought back to those hours in the hospital…that first time. He had been absolutely certain that everyone he'd dealt with meant him harm, and he remembered the threat and malice as if it had been absolutely real.

But -- as he'd been told over and over and _over_ since he woke up again -- it hadn't been real. The needles, the drugs, all of it had been done to help him. Elizabeth had even told him that it was the woman scientist's husband who had killed Niklas at the 'gate, saving his life in the process. It was all rather hard to take in – or believe.

John shifted a little in his bed, then gave up trying to get comfortable. With broken ribs on one side and a bullet hole on the other, there was no such thing as comfortable.

At least he'd been right about Niklas and the traders -- Elizabeth had also told him that they'd raided the terrorist base and broken down a wide cell of spies and collaborators, on Lygell and abroad. So John had been correct in interpreting their motives. Or maybe he'd just gotten lucky. After a while of trying to sort out which feelings should go with which memories, he gave up in confusion and just started counting down the minutes until he could leave this place and go home to Atlantis. Beckett and Elizabeth had promised him he could be moved later today.

Suddenly anxious, John lifted his head and looked around nervously for either Beckett or Elizabeth. One of them, or someone else from Atlantis, had been with him every moment he'd been awake, and, he suspected, most of the time even when he'd not been. He was annoyed with himself for his childish need to have a friend close by, but he looked nervously around nonetheless, only relaxing when he caught a glimpse of Elizabeth talking with someone in the hallway through the door.

John was not, normally, a fearful man, but the virus that had done a number on his grasp of reality had seen to making sure that nothing in this place could ever truly seem trustworthy. Over the last day, he'd even swung into mild depression, and John suspected that some of the medication added to his daily routine was of the anti-depression type. Beckett had said the lethargy and fearfulness, although he was kind enough not to use that word, were aftereffects of the virus and would fade soon. And John trusted Beckett, so he lay there, counting, and wishing Elizabeth would come into the room to talk to him.

He must have dozed off for a short time, because he startled a little when he felt Elizabeth's hand on his arm and opened his eyes to find her standing just beside him. She smiled with the mischievous look of someone keeping a secret and John couldn't help but chuckle in return. "You look like the cat who swallowed the canary," he teased her softly.

"I'm the cat who's going to spring the canary," she shot back with smug pride. "Neglee's team just arrived through the 'gate to escort you home, and Carson's finishing up the preparations to get your carcass mobile. He'll be here in a minute to start untangling you from this place."

John grinned, genuinely relieved, but he couldn't quite muster enthusiasm. Neglee's "escort" meant riding through the Stargate flat on his back in the hands of his own men. Not exactly a triumphant return. But he would take any kind of return he could get. As long as he was anywhere but here.

Elizabeth noticed his tepid reaction and patted his arm reassuringly, her own expression softening. "Before you do escape for good," she went on softly, "there are some people here who would like to say goodbye."

She stepped aside to wave forward the couple John hadn't noticed yet standing behind her. He felt his heart race and his breathing quicken even before his muddled brain could even start to try to convince his body that there was no threat. He clenched at the sheets with his hands and scootched away from his visitors, gritting his teeth against the stabs in his stomach the movement caused.

Mahala and Andrik remained where they were as Elizabeth rushed to calm him down, putting her hands on his shoulders and saying in soothing repetition, "It's OK, John. They won't hurt you, they never tried to hurt you. They're your friends, really. It's OK."

"I know. I know. I know…" John panted, controlling himself with difficulty. His gaze was locked on Mahala who returned his scrutiny with a stern calculating look. When he finally closed his eyes and forced himself to relax, Elizabeth let go of his shoulders to take his hand.

"I'm sorry," she murmured, sounding quite contrite. "I should have given you more warning. Mahala's been here several times before. I didn't think you'd still be alarmed."

John nodded, squeezing Elizabeth's hand hard. He didn't really remember seeing the woman whom he'd believed was torturing him since he'd left her tied to a chair. Most of his memories just after surgery and recovery had been still clouded with paranoia and were hazy at best. With a last shudder, he forced open his eyes and nodded to his visitors in greeting.

Elizabeth took a stab at breaking the ice, "John, Andrik tells me they just got word that Minister Lucus of Gellan was rescued in another raid." Andrik nodded.

"One of the traders you followed through our Stargate, Colonel, has decided that his former colleagues are more dangerous than our justice system," he said. "He has turned informant. He was also the one wearing the stolen Portal Guard's uniform who apprehended you on the roof, and the one I recognized in the courtyard as an imposter, lending credence to your claims."

Andrik suddenly stepped forward to extend his hand to John who took it for a firm handshake. "We are most grateful for your help in discovering the insurgents among us. Your…timely arrival has been the wake-up call we needed to become more diligent. Niklas was surely planning something sinister for our world before the lure of your presence tempted him to play his hand early."

"And your 'timely arrival' saved my ass at the Stargate," John retorted. "I won't soon forget it, however scrambled my brain was at the time."

Andrik smiled, "I only wish I had been a moment sooner. My wife was quite furious with me for allowing you to get shot, however much my intervention fouled Niklas's aim."

"Andrik exaggerates!" Mahala suddenly snapped, sternly. "I only mentioned to him that if he was going to go to the trouble of killing the traitor, he should have at least managed to do it before anyone else got hurt." Andrik grinned and flashed a look at Elizabeth who John could see was smothering a chuckle.

Mahala stepped closer to the bed herself. John couldn't help tensing up, now matter how many times he told himself she was not an enemy. At least she wasn't wearing her orange coat, he thought. And her hair hung over her shoulder in a long, silky loose braid that reached nearly to her waist, giving her a youthful look. He still reached for Elizabeth's hand, though, as the doctor spoke.

"I am quite relieved that you are returning to your home today," she said and John's eyebrow shot up at the double meaning he could pull from her statement. She went on, "You are a brave, resourceful man who deserves the friendship I see surrounding you. You will heal more quickly and more comfortably with them."

Surprised by the warmth of the sentiment that seemed in such stark contrast to her clipped and direct delivery, John could only stutter out, "Thank you. I am looking forward to going home."

"I'll bet you are," Mahala said and rewarded him with a very rare, genuine smile. She stepped back into Andrik's embrace, not quite leaning into her husband, but accepting the arm across her shoulder. "Despite being the most incredibly annoying patient I have ever had the misfortune to treat, I am glad our paths crossed, Lieutenant Colonel John Sheppard. And not only because doing so led us to your vaccination for the Madman Malaria."

John grinned, "I understand. I'm not sure I really like you either. But I thank you for helping. Someday, maybe, I'll actually believe you were."

"When that day comes, return for a time. We can do that 'Getting Acquainted' part then." Mahala's wry smile was pure mischief, and John suddenly thought that maybe, under different circumstances, he might have really liked her.

More murmured good-byes were uttered and John sagged into his bed as Elizabeth escorted Andrik and Mahala, now holding hands as they walked, to the door. The weary lethargy began to pull him down into groggy numbness again and he sighed to himself. He was dreading the move, knowing it would be painful. He was dreading being gawked at as he was carried through the Stargate on a stretcher.

But he would be home, he reminded himself halfheartedly, back in the familiar infirmary where the walls were as beautiful as the view through the windows, and nobody ever wore Orange. Beckett bustled cheerfully into the room and began immediately attacking the wires and tubes that hung from everywhere. John smiled at Beckett's incessant, reassuring patter as he worked. Beckett could always make him feel better.

Maybe he could talk someone into getting him some fries out of the mess hall for him, once he was back, he thought. His smile grew more genuine.

And he was definitely going to give Rodney a call and harass him for falling for that transponder-in-the-coal-cart trick.

He was going home. As Mahala said: to heal among his friends.

He suddenly felt _much_ better.

* * *

_ Thanks everyone for the great comments. In this case they were incredibly helpful! I spent a great deal of time on the first chapters in John's POV thinking to myself, this is SO not scarey! I worked hard at getting John to interpret the mostly mundane dialog as sinister, but since I knew the truth, I was really worried that the whole thing would come across as boring and not frightening at all. So, I was very pleased to read that, in fact, there was enough mystery and jeopardy to be at least a little entertaining. I set out to try a tricky POV stunt, and, thanks to you, I had a great time doing it! I am forever grateful!_


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